A Different Time
by Aaron D
Summary: After he's mortally injured in battle, Yuna takes MegaMan's body to Terra Station for repair. Meanwhile, the expedition to Forbidden Island is about to begin, as is the conquest of Marabonne Island! Chapter 13 UP!
1. My Trigger

  


A Different Time 

Part One:  
My Trigger 

**A Quick Note: This series is a sequel to the alternate-reality story "A Different Place." If you aren't familiar with that particular entry, perhaps you should read it first before proceeding---it's on my author page. Otherwise, you're likely going to be very confused. Okay, I warned you...**

* * *

_Since the beginning of time, the twin Goddesses have been warring over the fate of the world. As the Sky holds sway, the sun grows hotter and presses down upon the firmament. As the Earth reigns supreme, the warmth of light grows dim and far. When the twins are in equity, the sun and earth stand in balance. _

The servant spirits of the Two join them in their eternal battle, at times walking among men. Each strives to thwart the will of his Mistress's opponent. They care little for those who stand in their way. 

For as long as Earth and Sky wage war, men of the world can live as Fate lays out, but should one of the Twins stand victorious, her will shall be imposed upon men, robbing them forever of their destinies. 

from the text of the Oracle of Duality, Canto the First

* * *

The door to the sleep chamber hissed open. Two bodies were now housed within its confines, where there had previously been but one. Yuna looked down tenderly on both, as the sight of both Trigger's shell and her own so close together evoked memories of what might have been the most pleasant time of her existence. Trigger's face had been mutilated, certainly, but not so much that his features were not still recognizable beneath his new guise. His short nose, still possessed of its characteristic point; his ears, still standing out a little from his skull---the reason that Trigger had always preferred a slightly shaggier hairstyle than was common, among either the carbons or his fellow System Units. 

_Don't worry, Yuna---I'll be back! I promise. You're the most important thing in the world to me._

Sniffing, Yuna ran her fingers gently down Trigger's cheek. "I've missed you," she told him, though there was no way he could have heard. "Soon enough, my beautiful one, we'll be together again---and the way that the Master intended! The nanomachines in your blood will see to that." 

After all these years of hoping, praying, and yearning for one of the extinct Purifiers to be found, Yuna could hardly believe not only that one had finally been located, but that it was Trigger himself, whom she had long thought to be dead. She brushed the unnaturally-dark hair, with its small white streak, out of Trigger's face, silently thanking the Master once again for his most wonderful creation. 

Yuna grasped Trigger's limp hand, finding a small bit of slang from her host body's vocabulary. "Those carbons sure 'did a number' on you, didn't they, Trigger? It's been months since we found you, and your systems still aren't fully repaired. Don't worry," she added as an aside, "Gatz says you should be fully functional very soon, now. In fact, we'll even restore your true appearance, while we're at it." 

Suddenly, Yuna felt an incredible urge to flee. She looked at her strange surroundings, and began searching for an exit, something to take her to the surface. 

"Stop that!" she shouted. The feeling subsided. On occasion, Yuna's host would try to re-assert her independence. A minor annoyance, nothing more. The carbons' brains were so cluttered. Yuna was often amazed that she could retain her identity at all. Still, that wouldn't be an issue for much longer, would it? 

"Mistress Yuna," Gatz prompted gently as the chamber's door slid open. 

Yuna sighed, though she attempted to keep it as quiet as possible. Still, Gatz had probably heard it. "What is it, Gatz?" she snapped, knowing there would be no peace until the Servitor had his say. 

Gatz let a second of silence go by before reporting. "The large carbon skyship is still circling Sector 36J-14Z, Mistress." 

_Forbidden Island_, her host's memory involuntarily interjected. "Has it moved any closer to the protected zone?" 

"Not as of yet, Mistress Yuna, but the carbon units' transmissions generated from near the ship indicates that an attempt at the island is imminent." 

Yuna ran her fingers through Trigger's hair once again. To a bystander, it might have appeared that Gatz's statements had gone by unnoticed by her. "This is hardly any different from your last thirteen reports, Gatz. What was so urgent that it had to be brought to my attention immediately?" She shot a fiery glare at her subordinate. 

Gatz shuffled his feet, a nervouse habit which Yuna would not have suspected was in his program. "Well, Mistress, I must admit that these developments were not precisely what I wished to speak with you regarding." 

"Out with it, Gatz!" 

"I was wondering if you...might reconsider your orders to re-activate Servitor Gretz." 

Yuna felt herself getting a bit irritable. Still, she managed to force her words into a civil tone. "The truth of it, Gatz, is that there may be too much going on now for just you and myself to handle. The resuscitation of another Servitor seems like a valid solution, considering the variables. My decision was not intended to cast doubts upon your abilities." 

"Mistress, perhaps it would be better of me to explain that my...difficulties are with your choice of Servitor rather than the decision itself." 

"Why?" Yuna considered. "Gretz is a competent Servitor with a excellent record." She would have called it up in her memory, but of course she was no longer connected directly with the System. "And...if you are referring to one specific incident, let me remind you that I was present during those circumstances, and that Gretz accounted for himself quite satisfactorily during that time." 

Gatz bowed his head submissively. "Of course, Mistress. In truth, the incident of which you speak has no bearing upon my current misgivings. I was instead referring to Gretz's somewhat errant tendencies, not the least of which is his unnatural fondness for the carbon units themselves." 

Yuna sighed. "I don't care, Gatz. Unfortunately, for you at least, Gretz is the only Unit on Terra with a completely functioning shell at this time. To revive any other Unit, you and I would have to either fabricate a new shell, or make extensive repairs on one of the partially-functional ones. I don't think I need to tell you that this would take weeks, perhaps months. No, we'll revive Gretz. See to it at once, please." 

"As you wish," Gatz said, nodding. The doors slid closed as the Servitor left the sleep chamber. 

Trying unsuccessfully to fight of a wave of exhaustion, Yuna rested her head on Trigger's still chest. "It's getting close, now," she said, closing her eyes. "Once you put me back into my shell, we can work on restoring the Mother System's power on Terra. With Sera out of the way, you and I can finally get the planet back under our control. It will be wonderful..." Yuna's hand retained its grasp on Trigger's even as she drifted into slumber.

* * *

_NEXT TIME: Temporary Solution _


	2. Temporary Solution

  


A Different Time 

Part Two:  
Temporary Solution 

* * *

"Waaaack!" Quackard quacked as he dashed through the Sulphur Bottom's cargo hold. 

"Get back here!" Dantz cried, jogging after the tamed Birdbot. Though, perhaps, "tamed" might not be the proper term, considering Quackard's rough personality and penchant for gambling and drunkery. "It won't hurt, you know." 

"Stay away from me---errerrrhhh!" The Birdbot jumped onto a couple of dense wooden crates and flattened his back against the titanium wall. 

"Sorry, Q-Dog," said Dantz, "but Roll says you've gotta---" 

"She wants to cut my head off!" Quackard shouted, stomping on one of Dantz's hands as it came near him. 

Dantz backed off slightly, hoping to make his robotic compatriot more at ease. "Sure, she has to take your head off, but---" 

"But _nothing_!" Quackard shrieked, trying unsuccessfully to sink even further into the cast-iron walls. "This noggin's stayin' right where it is, pal!" 

"Look," Dantz said soothingly, "this skyship has some of the most advanced facilities we've seen in a long time. Roll doesn't have her own workshop anymore, you know." 

"Sure, but that doesn't mean I have to---" 

"_And_," the Digger continued forcefully, "you haven't had any maintenance or repairs done to your frame in nearly a year, now." 

"Because I haven't needed any!" Quackard huffed. 

"And Roll wants to make sure your body is in good shape. You should feel grateful she cares that much about you." 

The Birdbot jumped up and down. "If she cared about me, she wouldn't want to tear me into pieces!" 

Dantz shook his head. "You're taking this too personally!" 

"Shut up!" Quackard shouted. "There's nothing wrong with me, anyway! So you can tell Miss Robotic-Butchery-Lover that there's absolutely nothing---not a single thing, I tell you---that she needs to work on..." During this small but impassioned speech, Quackard had inadvertently raised a wing in a somewhat defiant gesture. Unfortunately, the grinding squeak which resulted immediately contradicted the Birdbot's statement. Quackard's eyes narrowed. "That was PURE coincidence." 

"Sure it was," Dantz said smugly. 

Quackard's beady eyes started darting this way and that, searching for a route of escape. "Really, I mean, even if I did want to get worked on...there'd be that whole thing about watching my body get taken apart while my head just sits there on the table, right?" 

"No, not at all," Dantz promised. "You'd be unconscious the whole time. You wouldn't have to see a thing." 

"Errrraauugh!" squawked the Birdbot. "That's even worse! You mean I'll be functionally DEAD! Errrrh! She'll have to KILL me to work on me!" 

Dantz sighed. "You realize that you're a robot, right? You won't be dead in any actual sense..." 

Quackard growled, a very odd sound when coming from a Birdbot. "You and your species-ist nonsense! Sure, I can't be dead---because I'm not really alive, am I!" 

"That's not what I meant!" 

"Errrrrrrrack!" Quackard honked with a note of finality, and hopped off of the crate. Unluckily, the Birdbot's ankle did not quite twist in the proper manner, and he collapsed facefirst to the hard deck floor, sending parts of him clattering across the hold. When the din had subsided, Quackard's torso was missing half of its extremities, including his right arm, left leg, and tail, and the leg that was still attached to his body was hanging by a short wire. 

"Quackard!" Dantz shouted as he knelt beside the Birdbot's inert shell. "Are you okay---" the Digger stopped as he flipped the metallic torso over and gasped as he received a shocking revelation. 

"Okay," Quackard's head said somewhat beleagueredly from the other side of the deck, "I suppose, since I've already done half of Roll's work for her, she can go ahead and finish up." 

After gathering up the assorted pieces of Quackard's frame, Dantz trudged into the Sulphur Bottom's elevator, took it up one level, and barged into Roll's makeshift workshop. The workshop was actually one of the Sulphur Bottom's lavish guest rooms, modified a bit for Roll's usage. The girl would have been happy to remodel the quarters herself, but Von Bleucher, the owner of the huge skyship, wouldn't hear of it, and had commissioned professional contractors to handle the job. The results were impressive: a huge, well-furnished workshop with over twice the space and three times the equipment of Roll's old junk room. It may have lacked the somewhat comfortable feel that had been present on the Flutter, but there was no question that Roll had a far easier time finding things and using them here. 

Dantz unceremoniously deposited the semi-disassembled robot onto Roll's borrowed work table. "I, ah, think I finally convinced him to go through with it," he explained after seeing the blond girl's raised eyebrow. 

"Great," she said laconically, spreading out the assorted pieces of Birdbot into a more manageable arrangement. She did so silently, without any particular expression on her face---a sight Dantz had grown accustomed to over the last eight months. While Roll hadn't seemed overly depressed since the destruction of the Flutter, she had certainly lost a bit of the girlish exhuberance that had previously marked her personality. "You see what happens when you don't let me work on you?" she scolded the Birdbot, setting its disattached head upon a nearby desk. 

"Can it, dollface," Quackard shot back. "It wouldn't have happened if this nitwit hadn't been chasing me all over the freakin' ship." 

"Whose fault was that?" Roll asked rhetorically. 

"Just get this over with," Quackard said as she picked up a small oil can, which she then used to oil the joints of his beak. "Blaaurgh!" 

"Oh, hush," said Roll. "I'm almost done." She squirted a bit more of the viscous, black substance into his mouth, then withdrew the oil can. "All finished." 

"Uuuh, that stuff tastes terrible!" he complained. "I'll have to brush my teeth for a week to get rid of it." 

"You don't actually have teeth," Roll reminded him. 

"Shut it! Actually, it _does_ feel a little better..." 

Dantz used this exchange as an opportunity to duck out of the room. He had been on the receiving end of enough of Quackard's insults during the chase and immediately afterward to last him the day. As he closed the door, silencing the endless barrage of chatter, the Digger felt somewhat overwhelmed by his lavish surroudings. Since the Flutter had been shot down by the Bonnes, a somewhat notorious pirate family, Dantz and the others had remained for a time on Kattleox Island, which still had plenty of unclaimed treasure left on it (including an odd series of connecting tunnels which, Dantz discovered, ended up connecting nearly all the Ruins on the island). Kattleox, however, was a bit out of the way, so it had been some time before a transport showed up. 

In fact, the transport itself was not on a regularly-scheduled stop. It turned out that Von Bleucher, an Digger and an old companion of Barrel's, had begun looking for his old partner, evidently hoping to re-create the expedition the two of them had made to Forbidden Island decades previous, and expedition that had ended badly for all. Technically, it could have been worse---Barrel and Von Bleucher had returned from Forbidden Island alive, and were apparently the only two men ever to have done so---but obviously, neither of them had accessed the Mother Lode or anything even close to it, which was a bit of a disappointment. 

Von Bleucher, upon hearing of his old partner's dilemma, had nearly immeditately offered his old friend living space on his ship, which had several spare quarters. Indeed, Dantz had found the accomodations quite luxurious, although in a sense, somewhat less comfortable than what he was used to. True, the Sulphur Bottom had become home, both for the Casketts and himself over the last few months, but, while it was a comfortable existence, living on Von Bleucher's massive yacht was a temporary solution at best to their homelessness. Unfortunately, Dantz's increasing involvement in Von Bleucher's latest project precluded his regular Digging schedule, which limited his income severely. This, in turn, left the prospects of acquiring a new skyship in which to live somewhat remote. 

And, since the Bonnes had destroyed the Flutter (come to think of it, _had_ the Bonnes been responsible? Dantz seemed to remember that, in actuality, the blast had originated from the Garoona Klang, a weapon belonging to the sky pirate Glyde, instead, although the Bonnes had been in the process of attacking the Flutter at the same time), Roll had spent more and more time in seclusion, working on some project of hers that she refused to speak about, despite several needlings by both Dantz and Quackard. Indeed, Roll had been keeping to herself in general since coming aboard. 

Deciding to pay Barrel a visit, Dantz questioned one of the guards as to the veteran Digger's whereabouts. 

"He's upstairs," said the beefy sky sailor. "With the boss." 

Thanking the guard, Dantz rode the elevator up another floor, and stepped into Von Bleucher's office. The majority of the Sulpur Bottom was ostentatious, but Von Bleucher's office put the rest of the ship to shame. It was nearly cavernous, which, less than a dozen years before, would have been considered an impossibility on a skyship. The large oaken desk in the center of the chamber was wide and sported ornately-carved reliefs of roses. Neither of the two old Diggers were there, however. Both Von Bleucher and Barrel were standing next to a gigantic display, a planning center of sorts, which held their tentative plans for the expedition to Forbidden Island. 

"We should approach from the northwest," said Barrel. "The winds are far less prevalent here." 

"No, we came in from the northwest last time," Von Bleucher insisted. "The southern approach is far more---ah, hello, Dantz! What brings you here today?" 

"Nothing much," said Dantz, shrugging. "Just thought I'd see how things are going." 

"We're still having a few disagreements about the specifics," Barrel said, scratching at his white beard. "Nothing too serious, though." 

Von Bleucher murmured his agreement. "Technically, we're finished with the basic planning stages of this expedition, as you know. We're going to fly the Sulphur Bottom in directly over the eye of the Maelstrom, then send a team of Diggers, yourself included, Dantz, down into the center, hopefully to find the Mother Lode itself." 

Dantz nodded, a grin splitting his face. Finding the Mother Lode was every Digger's dream, and it looked like he'd actually have the chance to do it! 

Shrugging, a matching grin split Von Bluecher's meticulously-groomed face. "I'm looking forward to it, myself. It will be another week before the Sulphur Bottom's armor plating is completed attached, so we can't go into the storm before then. Right now, Barrel and I are just quibbling over the particulars to pass the time, I'm afraid." 

"Yes," Barrel agreed, walking away from the two and towards the windows, through which the Maelstrom could be seen spiraling in the distance. "I remember having several similar discussions before our...last attempt." 

"Indeed," Von Bleucher said. "It seems that arguing over minutiae is all we have to preserve our sanity in these last, tense hours. In truth, we have probably already done all that we can to ensure our own safety, but it still always feels as if there is something else to plan or do." 

"I know!" Dantz swiftly agreed. "I'm getting kind of stir crazy here, even on a ship this big. I haven't been on a Dig more than five months, and I'm just itching for some action!" 

"We'll all get our chance, soon enough," promised Von Bleucher. "We're just a week away, now." 

Dantz heard Barrel sigh quietly. From the corner of his eye, the Digger saw Roll's grandfather take something out of his coat pocket, stare at it intently for a moment, then put it away. Despite an intense sense of curiosity, the Digger found his thoughts quickly wandering elsewhere. 

Just another week, and they'd find the Mother Lode!

* * *

NEXT TIME: The Odd Gentleman 


	3. The Odd Gentleman

  


A Different Time 

Part 3:  
The Odd Gentleman 

* * *

The marketplace of Gold City was somewhat removed from its commercial district. Whether it was due to urban planning, or perhaps due to some sort of class division, the marketplace was its own entity in several respects. In contrast to the shopping plazas, where department stores offered high-priced clothing and diversions, and high-brow restaurants prepared over-costly edibles, the marketplace was a simpler, cheaper, and less confusing area to shop. 

One could theoretically satisfy all of one's shopping needs at the marketplace, which contained stands offering fresh produce, meats, and cheeses, in addition to regular consumer goods. Many upscale and well-to-do personages patronized these stands as well, as the marketplace was well within walking distance of Gold City's largest bank (which, by the way, had well recovered from its devastating robbery nearly a year ago, perpetrated by the infamous Bonne family). It was not rare to see well-dressed gentlemen and ladies looking through the hastily-constructed shops right alongside dock workers, mechanics, and sea sailors, considered by many to have the least-desirable occupations imaginable. 

This particular fact is what made it so attractive to the objectionable elements of society. It was no secret that Ryship Island was a stronghold of the Loath Syndicate, perhaps the largest base of operations for the crime family throughout the Northern Hemisphere. What was not common knowledge to the less-well-connected members of society was that the Loath family not only owned interests in most major businesses in the island's economy, but that all of Gold City's criminal element paid tribute, and in some cases, reported directly, to Lex Loath and his immediate subordinates. 

On occasion, roaming gangs of thugs would canvas the marketplace, along with other public areas of Gold City, and mark certain consumers as easy targets for thefts. Muggings and picked pockets were somewhat regular occurrences when traversing the shopping areas, and, to a certain extent, residents of Gold City had become accustomed to them. 

Strangers to the city were always considered ripe for the plucking, especially the well-dressed ones. In fact, one such well-dressed man had recently garnered the attention of several local street toughs. Even had the odd gentleman not been new to town, he would have stood out, due to his lavender-colored hair, obviously a dye job, and his outdated clothing. He first caught the attention of one mugger as he bought an apple from a street vendor. Firstly, the odd gentleman had stopped and talked with the vendor for an unprecedented amount of time, almost as if he had not understood how to complete his transaction. Then, he had paid for the fruit, which could not have been worth more than fifteen zenny, with a huge refractor clearly worth more than twenty times that amount. Clearly, the man had plenty of money to throw around. 

Still, the odd gentleman's outdated clothing had the familiar look of Digger's armor, which meant he would not be easily intimidated. With a regular score, it would be fairly easy to convince a rich businessman that he would suffer imminent bodily harm if he did not cough up several hundred or thousand zenny within a very short amount of time. Conversely, Diggers tended to walk around fairly well-armed, which meant that they would not be as quick to assume their short-term well-being was in any immediate danger when confronted with violence. Quite the opposite---a Digger, when faced with one or two assailants, would have no qualms about fighting his or her way out of the situation, and would generally succeed, in getting away if not in trouncing his attackers altogether and taking them in to the police. A Digger would be a much greater challenge. 

So, it was decided that a large group would be required to successfully mug the odd gentleman, who had made a daily habit of coming to the marketplace and buying an apple for an overly-inflated price. Twelve men gathered together, followed the man into a somewhat secluded alley, and proceeded to demand he turn over all of his refractors. 

The odd gentleman pretended not to understand the muggers' simply-stated request, and proceeded to avoid the criminals' attacks, in fact, embarrassing them all somewhat by getting away without a scratch on him. Therefore, a second attempt was made with a few more men and in an even-remoter alleyway. This time, the odd gentleman began turning the thugs' attacks against them, somehow causing one man's punch to plow into another of his comrades instead of the intended target. Several of the men received beatings from themselves until, finally, the man excaped once again. 

It was at this point that the case of the odd gentleman gained the attention of Lex Loath himself. Not that the men involved had reported the incidents directly to the head of the family, but talk had a way of spreading, in a criminal organization perhaps moreso than anywhere else, and Loath was intrigued by the fact that a mere man, even a Digger, had not only escaped from a dozen men once, but twice. The mob chieftain took a personal interest in the situation, and the next time that the odd gentleman was confronted, Loath himself was there---in an observational position only, of course, as it would never do to have a gentleman of Loath's standing involved in any openly illegal activity. 

An additional seven men were recruited to the task, promised reward by Loath himself should the odd gentleman have less money in his possession than anticipated. A third time, the men laid in wait near the apple vendor, and a third time, the odd gentleman strolled by the darkened alley in which they were concealed, with Lex Loath watching discreetly from a nearby cafe. In fact, the cafe was very well-positioned for such a task, as Loath could not only see unencumbered into the alley itself, and he could easily hear all that was going to happen, as well. 

As they had done before, the men hauled the odd gentleman into the alleyway, and, indeed, the young man seemed somewhat surprised by the action, even though it happened three times in nearly as many days. Loath sipped slowly from his hot coffee as he watched the spectacle unfold. 

"All right, buddy, let's see the zenny! Fork it over!" hissed one of the muggers. 

The odd gentleman smiled politely. "I apologize, but I am uncertain as to the nature of your request. By 'fork,' are you referring to an eating utensil of metallic manufacture? If so, I am afraid I have none of that kind of object currently upon my person." 

Another of Loath's men pulled out a small pistol. "No more of that double-talk, chump. Give us those refractors, or it'll be curtains for you!" 

The pleasant expression on the young man's face did not change. "Unfortunately, I cannot give you any of my refractors, lest I put my own operation in jeopardy. And your threat of physical violence is highly irregular. I will now exercise my Perogative of Correctional Displacation." The strange gentleman paused, as if considering something that had just been brought to his attention. "Oh. I had momentarily forgotten that this Perogative has been taken out of my hands. Fortunately, since my program appears to be in some danger, I am currently allowed to resort to non-lethal methods of behavior correction." 

Still smiling, the young man managed to strike down three of the would-be muggers before the others, or Loath, had even realized what was happening. The remainder of the group charged the odd gentleman at once, burying him under an avalanche of human bodies. Or so it seemed. Loath found out seconds later that the lavender-haired man had leapt straight up, far higher than he would have guessed had been possible. The young man landed on his assailants, many of whom had taken each other out of the fight with too-ferocious tackles. 

Some of the thugs who had freed themselves from the dogpile rushed at the odd gentleman a second time. The results were no better than they had been previously. He sidestepped the first, then clocked two more with his armored fists. The first swiveled around in time to see the young man's boot connect with his face. 

"This effort is most futile," the odd gentleman said apologetically as he punched another of his attackers in the face. 

By this point, Loath's men, or, those who could still walk, had decided they'd had enough. Thugs began fleeing in every angle, some taking routes directly through the marketplace patrons. Others, that had been less lucky in the altercation, remained piled in a heap on the alley floor. 

Noisy as it had been, the fight had attracted some attention from the market patrons, but most had wisely avoided looking in the direction of the altercation, muggings being a somewhat common occurrence in the area. Loath, however, ceased all pretense and headed instantly towards the location of the incident, intercepting the odd gentleman before he could make his exit. 

"That was quite a show you put on, there," Loath congratulated him, rewarding man with his shark's grin. 

"It was not intended for entertainment purposes," the odd gentleman said earnestly. "I was merely implementing a series of negative reinforcements to these units for their inappropriate behavioral decisions." 

"Err...right," said Loath. "They should have known better." The bulky crime boss lifted his booted foot and kicked one of the inert, moaning thugs in the belly. "You idiots! How many times have I told you not to rob people!" 

"Oh!" the underling gasped in pain. "But boss, you said we should---ahh!" 

"Quiet! Don't interrupt when I'm talking!" Loath took the odd gentleman's arm and began leading him away from the carnage. "You know, you seem to really have _it_, kid, you know what I mean?" 

"I am afraid I do not comprehend your intended meaning," the young man confessed. 

"What I'm saying is, our organization could really use a man like you, with your, shall we say, 'unique' talents?" 

The young man smiled politely. "Well, organization is this unit's specialty, although recent events might not have indicated this. What are your specific requirements?" 

Loath shrugged. "Well, a little of this, a little of that---I have my hand in a lot of industries, you know. Of course, a man of your skill would no doubt receive quite a bit of compensation, you know." 

The young man seemed amicable. "This would be acceptable. It would seem that understanding the conceptual nature of your civilization's industrial structure would well fit in with the parameters of my current mission of exploration." 

"Great!" Loath said, grinning. "Lex Loath, at your service, kid. We're gonna do great things together, I can tell." 

"This unit is designated MegaMan Juno, Bureaucratic Model, Third Class," the odd gentleman said. 

"Bureaucratic, eh?" Loath mused. "I think I know just what to start you out on, kid---hey, wait a second! Did you say 'MegaMan?'" 

"Correct. That is the first part of my designation," the young man affirmed. 

"Why does that sound familiar?" Loath scratched his head, trying to recall where he'd heard the name before. It seemed to dredge up some bad feelings from his past, but he couldn't quite put his finger upon why. Then, it occurred to him. 

"I get it! MegaMan, like on TV, right? Man, I couldn't stand that show."

* * *

NEXT TIME: We're Going Home! 


	4. We're Going Home!

  


A Different Time 

Part 4:  
We're Going Home!

* * *

Number Twenty-One walked silently into the lab. "Silently," in this case, was not quite accurate, as Number Twenty-One was probably incapable of traveling anywhere without making at least a required modicum of noise. To be certain, stealth had not been a primary factor in his design or programming. So it was not unnoticed when he entered the Gesellschaft's laboratory, well into the ship's night cycle, although technically, it was still early evening outside, due to the ship's westerly course. 

Twenty-One trundled over to the work table and set his burden down onto it. "I brought you some cocoa, Miss Tron," he said, pouring some of the frothy brown liquid into a mug. Then, he placed the beverage in front of his creator's drooped head. 

Tron said nothing. She was huddled over a blueprint, clearly some new weapon she was designing for the Gesellschaft's next battle. Or something like that. Number Twenty-One wasn't very good with these things, neither blueprints nor weapons, so he decided wisely to ignore it, and let Miss Tron handle her own business. 

"Miss Tron?" the Servbot asked politely. "Are you awake?" 

"Yes, I'm fine," she said, giving Twenty-One a swift glare through her glasses. "I'm just a little busy right now." 

"What are you working on?" 

Tron sighed. "I'm trying to design an engine to use the Golden Refractor. It's got three points, you know, and most standard generators are designed to use standard two-pointed refractors." 

"Oooh," Number Twenty-One said, though he barely understood anything he had been told. Tron had been spending most of her hours in the laboratory of late, especially in the last few months, so he relished this small time he could spend with her---apart from mealtimes, when Twenty-One was busy in the kitchen in any case. "What will you use it for?" 

"I'm not sure yet," Tron said. "The entire Colossus was powered by this one refractor, if you remember." 

Twenty-One didn't, but he felt no need to state this fact. "I see..." 

"Yeah, that was pretty impressive. From what I saw, the Colossus took over twelve times as much energy to run as the Gesellschaft does." Tron expelled a heavy breath and brushed the hair back from her ears. It was quite tangly, as if she hadn't put it through its requisite brushing in several days. 

"Oh, I remember the Colossus!" Twenty-One said eagerly. "It was when we rescued Master Teisel from Mr. Loath! And MegaMan blew the Colossus...up..." he trailed off, thinking that perhaps he might not have wanted to say this last bit. 

"Yes," Tron said absently. "He sure did." She began staring at the plans in silence again, occasionally marking an error or writing additional calculations in the margins. 

Number Twenty-One wasn't really ready to leave yet, even though he suspected he had made Tron a bit cross. Noiselessly, he stood next to her, watching as she edited her blueprints further still. "Aren't you going to drink your cocoa, Miss Tron? It's home-made, you know. Not from a box." 

Tron picked up her mug, but it seemed almost incidental, as though she had not even given it a conscious decision. Another few seconds ticked by before she put it to her lips. "It's good," she murmured as she set down the cocoa, without ever taking her eyes off the plans. "Do you want some?" 

"No, thank you," he said. "I'm trying to lose a few pounds." The Servbot let a couple more moments go by before he said, "Well, I guess I'll head back to the kitchen, now, Miss Tron. Call me when you're done with the dishes, and I'll come get them for you, okay?" 

"Sure," she said. 

Twenty-One bowed, and backed out of the laboratory, turning around about halfway through the room. However, due to Twenty-One's poor balance, combined with his small field of vision, he tripped over a large power cable, detaching the cable itself, which flew backwards and scattered the papers which covered Tron's desk. They scattered over the lab, helped quite a bit by the ceiling fan, which was on high blast, a necessity when working in the sweltering temperatures which were standard in the lab. "Sor-rry..." Twenty-One stammered. 

"Oh!" Tron shouted angrily. "You MORON! I've been working on these for days, and you managed to jumble up everything!" She advanced on the cringing Servbot. "I had all of those papers in a proper order, NOW how am I supposed to get them all back into place? I'm gonna pound you into.." It was at this point that Tron's temper ran out of steam. To Twenty-One, it seemed as if she somehow deflated in front of him, her head lowering and her clenched fists sinking to her sides. "Oh, forget it. It was an accident, right? And you're sorry, aren't you?" 

"Y-yes, Miss Tron," Number Twenty-One said, his lower lip trembling. "I'm s-sorry..." 

Tron knelt and drew Twenty-One in to her, clutching the Servbot with no abandon. Her grip on him was perhaps tighter than Twenty-One's servomotors would have even been capable of, and the upper corner of her glasses were digging into his face. Twenty-One himself could barely breathe, but he felt his mistress exhale a long breath, all the time tightening her grip on him, clinging to him as if he were her only anchor. 

"I love you, too, Miss Tron," he said.

* * *

"Babuuuu-bu!" Bon said, offering something to his older brother. 

"Hm?" Teisel said, startled out of his reverie. "Oh, thanks, Bon." He stared at the object. It was a metallic ring, though, clearly, not the kind someone would wear on his finger (not that you'd EVER catch Teisel Bonne wearing fruity jewelry on his hands, thank you---he was far too manly of a pirate for that sort of thing). No, the item seemed to be more functional than decorational. Sitting up straight in the Gesellschaft's captain's chair, Teisel asked, "What is this, a key ring?" 

Number Eight looked at the object from the operations console. "I'll bet it's a bottle cap!" 

"How could it be a bottle cap?" Number One asked, shaking his head. "It doesn't have a top. It's hollow." 

Eleven waved from the pilot's seat. "I know! It's a micro-conductor!" 

"Buuuu," Bon said in explanation. "Bu." 

Teisel raised an eyebrow. "You don't know what it is, but it's going to be very helpful to me pretty soon? That's rather vague, isn't it? And you found it---" 

"Bu," Bon added. 

"---in MegaMan's room?" Teisel involuntarily flinched. At least Tron wasn't around. She might have gone into hysterics, or perhaps sank into a deep funk at the mention of the boy's name. Almost a year later, and she still hadn't quite become her old self---the sister that the two Bonne brothers were used to. Maybe she'd changed for good, although Teisel hoped that at some point Tron could hear his _name_ without any severe reaction. Surprisingly, Teisel found himself feeling a bit down when thinking of the bright-eyed lad. "Oh. Well, thanks again, Bon. I'm sure it'll come in...er, handy." 

Bon beamed at his elder sibling. 

Even strange gifts from his brother could not keep Teisel's mind from its current obsession. He began rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "Just think, Bon---once Tron finishes her new weapon, and our allies arrive, we'll be ready to retake our ancestral home!" 

Bon grunted somewhat lightly. 

"I know---you can't even remember Marabonne Island, can you? It was a lovely place, Bon, just lovely." Teisel found his eyes getting a little misty at this nostalgic reverie. "Not just the palace, mind you, although that was lovely enough. The gardens were beautiful; I used to spend entire days there when I was a boy, and there were a thousand places to hide. I would sneak into the kitchens and make off with cupcakes and custard tarts before any of the cooks could notice me. 

"No, Bon, the true beauty of the isle is in Marabonne City---though, I didn't spend a great deal of time there until I was older, you understand. The people there are so REAL, you see." Teisel paused. "Maybe I didn't explain myself fully. It's just that, when I lived on the streets, the shopowners, the window-washers, the rogues, they were all so...so...I don't know what the word I'm looking for is, but they were so..." 

"...real?" Number Eleven finished for him. 

Teisel coughed uncomfortably. "Yes, quite. My friends Bohannon and Lytrel have graciously agreed to assist us in our efforts---" 

"Babu," Bon interjected. 

"---not that we needed any help, anyway," Teisel finished, taking his brother's cue. "Still, it never hurts to over-prepare, does it? It might take more than the Gesellschaft and forty Servbots to overwhelm an entire island, even with the addition of myself, Tron, and you, Bon. At least, it might take more than all of us to overwhelm an entire island as big as ours is." With this, Teisel began chuckling softly. "And it will be OUR island again, won't it boys!" 

"Roger!" some of the Servbots chorused, followed with a few "You bet!"'s and one or two statements of "Don't you know it!" 

Teisel was getting so excited over his proposed conquest that he felt it would be improper of him not to stand up. "This, boys, is the very purpose of our entire careers in piracy! I know, we could have just rested on our laurels---we have enough money (for now, anyway) to survive on. Heck, I suppose we won't even need to rob anyone for a while. But this is _personal_. We're going to attack Marabonne Island and steal back what's rightfully ours from those dirty Mauvaises! And I---what is it, Number Five?" 

The Servbot, who had raised his hand properly, asked, "Umm..are you sure that's the right way to say it? 'Mauvaises?' Shouldn't it be 'Mauvais' instead?" 

"Well," Number One broke in, eager to get his opinion in as always, "they are called the 'Mauvais family', so maybe you should leave off the 'E-S' when you pluralize it." 

"I don't think so," Eight disagreed. "You should always add an 'E-S' to a word that ends in 'S.' Like 'canvases' or 'passes.'" 

"Babuu," Bon said, adding his own thoughts to the discussion. 

"I don't care how you say their name!" Teisel yelled over the pending argument. "All I care about is that once we get to Marabonne Island, those low-down, cheating Mauv---that low-down, cheating _Mauvais family_," he stressed, avoiding using the plural form of the name altogether, "---will be crushed, thrown kicking and screaming from OUR demenses! We'll crush 'em, or my name isn't Bonne!" Teisel punctuated the statement with his familiar maniacal laughter, encouraging Bon and the Servbots to join in with their own shouts and mutterings. 

A few thousand miles away, the citizens of Marabonne Island woke up to their new morning, never realizing how complicated their lives would become in just a few short weeks.

* * *

NEXT TIME: Re-Activation 


	5. ReActivation

  


A Different Time 

Part 5:  
Re-Activation

* * *

"Are you sure I cannot convince you to reconsider?" Gatz asked Yuna as they entered the secondary sleep chamber. Unlike Yuna's private quarters, this chamber was massive, able to accomodate perhaps three dozen Units at one time---Servitors, of course, as rest quarters tended to be separated by Unit designation, the single exception to that principle being Trigger's presence in Yuna's own chambers. Gatz frowned, though this time for another reason completely than Yuna might have suspected. 

"My decision stands," Yuna said firmly, an act which was accented by her host's fairly impressive height---perhaps the only way that her current body surpassed her original shell. "Terra Station can run itself without any direct supervision, but the plans we need to set in motion require more Units to be activated, starting with Gretz. I am afraid you will have to come to terms with his program." 

"Very well," Gatz said, attempting to keep the disgust out of his voice. After all, was he not duty-bound to obey the Mother's orders? 

Yuna stood aside as her Servitor began punching in the sequence which would retrieve Gretz's shell out of cold storage. Gatz entered each digit grudgingly, hoping to drag the process out as much as possible, although he knew that it would solve little. As he intialized the procedure, ancient machines buried deep underneath Terra Station began groaning, protesting their reactivation after centuries of laying dormant. 

"It won't be long now," he assured the Mother Unit over the rumbling. 

Yuna nodded. "I know." 

Gatz nearly shuddered, thinking of the last time he and Gretz had encountered one another. It was a situation not incredibly dissimiilar from the one in which he currently found himself. In fact, perhaps centuries had passed, since Yuna first decided to retrieve Unit Gretz from his post at Eden Station. 

"Gretz is undisciplined and untrustworthy," Gatz had immediately declared to Yuna upon learning the news. "I do not know if I can continue to function as your second if he will be a constant presence here." 

Yuna had shaken her head sadly at him. "You can't understand what he went through. Only Trigger can even begin to comprehend what Gretz did. You should feel sympathy for him, not malice." 

"I could feel no malice toward him," Gatz had said. "That would require some modicum of respect. From me, he deserves nothing but contempt. After all, what he has done shows nothing but contempt for the System's well-being. I realize there are few functioning Units left to serve anywhere, now, but surely we are better off without Gretz than with him." 

Yuna's crimson eyes had flashed. "You don't know all of the facts, Gatz. Perhaps---" 

But, unbeknownst to Gatz at the time, Gretz had already been transferred to Terra Station and was, in fact, standing mere feet away from his fellow Servitor. "Perhaps," Gretz had said, his spiked hair jutting out lazily from his scalp, "this Servitor should go back topside, spend a couple of years living among the carbons, until Gatz has a chance to settle down." 

Embarrassment welled up within Gatz, an emotion his program had little experience dealing with or understanding. "If that is truly what you desire..." he began. 

"Stop bickering!" Yuna commanded, flinging her pigtails back forcefully. "The two of you _will_ get along, or I will be forced to edit your programs extensively!" 

"Of course, Mother," both of them had swiftly agreed. 

The embarrassment Gatz had felt dissipated over time, but he had found that it stung fresh each time he thought of Gretz, which he tried to keep as seldom as possible. Once Gretz was around daily, though, Gatz would be unable to keep the rogue Servitor out of his consciousness, unpleasant as the situation sounded. 

The rumbling began slowing, then ceased altogether as Gretz's cocoon was raised into the sleep chamber. His shell was just as Gatz recalled---though it was unlikely that it would have been otherwise. In contrast to several of the Servitors who had been put into cold storage around the same time, Gretz's frame was whole and hale---one of Yuna's professed reasons for his resuscitation. In fact, he appeared all but identical to the day in Gatz's memory, save for the small gold decoration dangling from Gretz's right ear, a remnant of his last sojourn among the carbon units. Gretz had also removed the Seeing Eye from its place of honor in the center of his forehead, perhaps to facilitate those very journeys, although Gatz could not remember a time where he had seen the Eye there, so it was possible Gretz's shell was constructed without it. 

"Begin the reanimation process, Gatz," Yuna ordered. "I'll leave it to you. I'll be in my own chambers should you need me." 

_With Trigger_, Gatz thought, but did not put voice to his assumption. Watching Yuna as she walked away, Gatz noted that except for himself, nearly everyone he knew had changed significantly, though some changes were more obvious than others. Obviously, Trigger himself had been forced to adapt, with so much of his shell damaged in his battle with Sera. He and the Mother had only just recently discovered how drastic the change had been; Trigger's re-formed shell had not even reached full maturity as of yet. Considering the amount of damage Trigger had sustained before recovery, it was fortunate that his shell would not have to regress even further, though the assistance of the stasis cocoon had aided in and speeded Trigger's recovery somewhat. Had Trigger been on his own, no doubt his shell would have rejuvenated even further to shed irreparable sectors of hardware, a process the Purifier must already have gone through once. 

Of course, why had he not just come to Yuna for help from the beginning? Gatz remembered how his mistress had spent decades looking for the lost Purifier with no success. Since Trigger was still alive, his program should have been broadcasting itself no matter what part of the world he was in, or even were he on the moon or Eden Station. But there was no sign of him, not even a hint of his command lines. Trigger was obviously not dead or deleted, so this meant he was likely trying to hide himself from Yuna. Knowing what he knew of the Purifier's somewhat unorthodox relationship with her, Gatz was forced to wonder why that was. 

Entering the codes that would start the reanimation sequence, Gatz looked down at his fellow Servitor. "I wonder what Trigger would have thought of your decision? Would he have hated you, as so many others did? No, he would probably have agreed with you, wouldn't he? No matter the cost. Maybe he even knew about it. Perhaps...you were working together?" Could that have been possible? 

If Trigger and Gretz were operating with the same data, it might account for the strange behaviors both of those Units had displayed in previous timeframes. And now Yuna was intent on resuscitating them both. Which meant that everyone was working in the same information loop except for Gatz. The Servitor shook his head. It made no sense. Why would Yuna keep Gatz by her side for these centuries without full disclosure? What purpose would that serve? More likely, Yuna's softer emotions (considered by some to be a weaker point of the Mother Units, though Gatz himself would never presume to suggest as much) were responsible for her current decisions, much as they had been for Yuna's loss of her own shell thirteen years ago. Her compassion motivated her to heal the carbon female's wounds, to the exclusion of her own safety. Unfortunately, Terra Station had not been equipped with the necessary resources to manufacture or fully repair the shell of a Mother, which was why Yuna needed the nanos of a Purifier to restore her original body. 

Gatz sighed, an action which may or may not have been responsible for waking Gretz. The inert Servitor's eyes flashed crimson as they opened for the first time in over two centuries. "Servitor Gretz," Gatz addressed him. "Welcome back to consciousness. You have been revived on Terra Station. It has been just over 2,242,568 hours since your dormancy commenced. Can you understand my words?" 

Gretz blinked twice in reply. 

Nodding, Gatz continued to work the cocoon's resuscitation procedures. "Control of your motor functions will be restored shortly. Other than yourself, Mother Yuna and I are the only two fully functioning units on the Station." Gatz wondered how accurate that statement was, but decided not to correct himself in front of Gretz. Besides, an complete explanation of Yuna's current status would be cumbersome and somewhat superflous. Gatz decided to let the Mother detail her situation to Gretz personally. 

Gretz's arms began twitching, a sign of mobility being restored. Gatz opened the transparent case of the cocoon so that the other Servitor would be able to emerge momentarily. The display on the cocoon began flashing yellow, a sign that the procedure was nearly complete. 

"You should be able to stand within seconds," Gatz explained. "Is there anything you require?" 

"No," Gretz said somewhat at length, as though he were tasting the word. The newly-revived Servitor blinked and began studying his surroundings intently. Then, inexplicably, he gasped. 

"Is there some difficulty?" asked Gatz. 

Gretz blinked a few more times, then sat up. "I don't know quite how to explain this to you," he said in that annoyingly cloying voice, "but something here is wrong. This is not how things are supposed to be."

* * *

**NOTES: I thought I'd give you a treat and post five entries at once. Aww yeah. Anyway, I'll try to keep working on this, but I can't promise I will be able to pump out those chapters as quickly as last time, now that I have to actually THINK about things before I write them down. If you have no idea what's going on, that's because you didn't read the first story, "A Different Place," which is on my author page. Go read that first, dummy! I guess if you have any questions, feel free to ask. Can't promise I'll answer them, though, on account of it might ruin stuff that I've got upcoming. So keep that in mind. Also, these five chapters serve as kind of an intro to the whole thing, so it makes sense for them all to come out at once, rather than doing them one at time. You could read them one at a time, though, if you wanted---in fact, I guess you sort of have to. **

NEXT TIME: Reunion 


	6. Reunion

  


A Different Time 

Part 6:  
Reunion

* * *

"Be quiet!" Number One hissed as the Drache re-entered the Gesellschafts' hangar. But, as usual, despite his ample stream of chidings, warnings, and orders, his younger brothers were refusing to listen to him. 

If fact, One doubted that the others being quiet would have even helped the situation any noticeable amount. Perhaps, had the Servbots been lined up in a respectable formation, a swift order for silence would have been the final touch in an orderly welcome. As it was, complete silence would have made the chaos that spread out over the Gesellschaft's lowest level seem somehow stilted. 

Since a few of the Servbots in the hangar were involved in routine maintenance or sanitation procedures, Number One realized he might have been overly judgemental, but wasn't that his perogative as the eldest? Even if it had not been, less than a third of the total number were actually doing useful things. There were no less than three games of Burple Bowling currently being played on the deck, one game of checkers, and four or five Servbots seemed to be gambling heavily on some activity, though One could not see what it was. Two was giggling ferociously, evidently about something he had already done, because he did not seem to be in the midst of anything illicit at the present moment. 

One felt a surge of disgust at Two's deplorable behavior. At least, that was what he told himself it was. It couldn't be related to any sibling rivalry the two oldest Servbots had going on between them, because One was a mature enough being to rise above petty emotions like that. 

As the Drache's engines began cooling, the small aircraft's rear door opened, followed by the lowering of the retractable stairs. Number Thirty-Nine trundled out, seeming quite excited, though this expression was no stranger to the young Servbot's face. Behind him, two well-armored humans followed, one male, the other female. It took One a few moments to recognize the two, even though he was expecting them. 

The first, while thick-framed, was a bit shorter than Master Teisel, and unlike the former, had no hair whatsoever, save for thick red eyebrows and a handlebar mustache which covered his upper lip. His bright blue eyes took easily took in the surroundings of the Gesellschaft's hangar. "Hm. Teisel's done pretty well for himself, don't you think?" 

"I always knew he would," the woman said, shrugging matter-of-factly. She was taller than her companion, and while she was built fairly sturdily as well, next to the sheer bulk of the man, she appeared quite svelte. Her coloration was somewhat dark, and her skin bore not the temporary tan brought on by sunlight, but a natural mocha shade which was present year-round. She might have once been quite pretty, but one of her dark eyes had been injured, removed, then replaced with a neon blue Reaverbot eye. It was possible the woman was _still_ very pretty, but in Number One's mind, no other woman in the world could have been as pretty as Miss Tron. 

"Hello," Number One said to the newcomers, taking the initiative and making sure he was the first to be introduced to them. After all, he WAS the first Servbot they'd ever known, so it was only fair. "It's me, Number One! It's so good to see you again! Master Teisel and Miss Tron will be down pretty quick." 

"Right," said the woman, swiveling her head to encompass the entire deck. "There sure are a lot more of you guys, now, aren't there?" 

"Umm, yes," Number One said, unsure of whether to elaborate. 

"Wow," said the man, "there's a lot of junk crammed in here, too." 

Thirty-Nine's eyes lit up. "Ooooh! That's our pirate treasure!" 

"Treasure, eh?" the woman said speculatively. "Just how much are we talking about, here?" 

"Stop it, Lytrel," her companion scolded. "We don't steal from friends." 

"Why not?" The woman asked slyly. "You've stolen from me loads of times." 

"Well," he said, grabbing her hand and kissing it swiftly, "we're not exactly...friends, now, are we?" 

"Ah, the two most dear compatriots of my youth!" Teisel Bonne's voice boomed across the din. "Welcome to our humble, yet functional and deadly, abode!" 

Number One noticed the two newcomers snatched their hands away from each other as Teisel, Tron, and Bon emerged from the Gesellschaft's lift. Teisel had clearly had his Digging armor shined for the occasion---the olive green ceramic composite nearly gleamed in the soft flourescent light of the hangar deck. Bon's armo had not been similarly polished, but it hardly needed to be---the youngest Bonne stood out wherever he went. Tron had not appeared to make herself look any different from usual, although One suspected that her hair had been brushed and styled more intensively than it had been in some time, although whether that was the doing of Number Eighteen or Tron herself, One wasn't certain. 

"Hello, Tiesel," said Lytrel. "Your hair finally went all grey, huh?" 

"You say that like it isn't fashionable," Teisel replied, as if offended. "At least I'm not _bald_..." 

"Hi, there, Tron," the mustachioed man said, ignoring Teisel's jibe. "It's been a long time, hasn't it? Do you remember me? I'm Bohannon." 

"Sure, I remember you," Tron said, though it appeared to One that she was far less enthusiastic about this reunion than her older brother. "Both of you." 

"You should be excited," said Bohannon. "You and your brother are finally going home." 

"I'm excited!" Number One piped up, eager to become part of the conversation. 

Tron shrugged, responding as if One had not spoken. "This is really our home, now. I barely remember the manor." 

"...then, the truck fell over, and we took all of his refractors!" Teisel was saying. "A few of them broke, though, didn't they? Anyway, I---" he stopped speaking, as though something had just occurred to him. "Why are we all standing around in the hangar? Let's go upstairs and have some tea! Or coffee, or whatever!" He pointed cinematically upward. "To the conference room!" 

The entire party of four humans, forty Servbots, and Bon trekked upwards to the Gesellschaft's conference room, which, with periodic trips up the lift, took slightly over an hour. Tron told Twenty-One and Twenty-Nine to fetch everyone's drink order, which ended up taking even longer, since, by the time everyone had been served a drink, those who had been served first were finished. The problem was solved by taking two large carafes and three cases of soda pop up to the conference room, which made things logistically even more crowded. Finally, Teisel ordered all Servbots not on bridge duty to vacate the premises, which was grudgingly done, with no small amount of grumbling. However, this made things such as conversation far more manageable. 

"I heard someone's planning an expedition into Forbidden Island," Lytrel said, grabbing a bottle out of a cooler. "I'm surprised you guys aren't going to hang around there---you know, see if there's any valuable refractors for the taking." 

Tron nodded. "We thought about it, but Teisel said he'd rather take care of 'family business' first. Besides, those refractors will still be there, even after the expedition's over, right?" 

"I guess so, but we were thinking about going there ourselves..." 

Bohannon shrugged. "We can always check into that job after this one. Maybe we can all get in on it together." 

"All right, everyone," said Teisel, setting his steaming mug of tea back onto the table, "let's go over our plan of attack!" 

"Can't it wait 'till tomorrow?" Lytrel asked. She finished her Berry Burple, then emitted a near-record-breaking belch. 

Tron leaned forward on her elbows. "Teisel, are there enough of us to take over the entire island? Marabonne's a lot bigger than most of islands we've been to before." 

"There're more than just the two of us, Tron," said Bohannon, leaning his feet on the conference table. "We've collected something of a pirate crew ourselves in the last few years, though I doubt there as...err, loyal as yours is." 

"No way!" agreed Number Thirty-Eight, who was hard at work double-checking Teisel's attack strategy. 

"If I may?" the elder Bonne interjected. "As I was saying, it's not really necessary to control the _entire_ island. I've been led to believe by certain sources that most of Marabonne Island's people will be favorable, or, barring that, then indifferent towards our return. This means that our primary objective will be assaulting Bonne Manor itself.' 

"Actually, they're calling it 'Mauvais Manor' now," Lytrel said. 

Teisel's mouth twitched. "How unsurprising. We, however, will NOT be referring to it as such. Our main goal will be to capture or drive out Ledon Mauvais and any members of his accursed family that still remain within the manor's walls. The manor had no mechanical defenses when we last lived there, but I would suspect that its current occupants put some in at their earliest opporunity." Raising his hand, Teisel pulled down a map that appeared to display Bonne Manor's grounds, then began pointing at various locations. "The Gesellschaft will fire a quick burst from its forward cannon here, knocking out the radio tower. That'll prevent them from calling for any reinforcements. Then, five Draches will land on the western lawn. Bon will lead a party of fifteen Servbots into the southwestern gate, while Tron and I will enter the opposite side. Lytrel, I want your ship to lower directly into the courtyard, if that's possible." 

"Sure," she said, "It's small enough, and you know I'm pilot enough to do it." 

"Wait," Bohannon said. "Did you say that _Bon_ was going to lead an attack? Is Bon still alive? I didn't see him when we got to the ship, so I figured he was---" 

"Babu!" Bon said. 

"Of course, he's alive," Tron answered. 

"Well, where is he?" 

Teisel and Tron both blinked. "Right there," Teisel said, pointing to his younger brother. 

Lytrel's good eye widened. "That's Bon? What happened to him?" 

"Bu!" Bon said, smiling.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: Sorry, there's going to be a few fan characters in the upcoming chapters, just 'cause I couldn't figure out how to work other "real" characters into the story line. That being said, I promise to involve one or two more canon people just so you don't get bored. **

NEXT TIME: Calm Before the Storm 


	7. Calm Before The Storm

Tarr Jerren hopped briskly out of his automobile. While many neighborhoods in Marabonne City were so crowded as to nearly prevent any sort of car traffic, the midtown financial district was certainly exempt from that status. Jerren, of course, could hardly familiar with any of the local customs or conditions, as he had only been standing upon Marabonne Isle's firmament for perhaps three hours, barely long enough to disembark from his skyship, find his luggage, rent a car, and begin his drive toward his company's branch office.

"Park your car for you, sir?" a well-dressed young man asked him.

Jerren blinked. "I'm sorry?"

Smiling, the young man explained. "Valet parking, sir. For all of our out-of-town guests. It's free of charge, of course."

"Are you sure?" Jerren asked. "I thought it was all right to just park the thing on the side of the street."

The young man nodded, his loose mane of brown hair bobbing in time with his chin. It might have been Jerren's imagination, but it seemed as though there were a few grey hairs mixed in with the cinnamon. "It's certainly legal to park you car on the street, sir, but I'd recommend against it." He leaned closer to Jerren, as if sharing confidence with the older man. "You may not have heard this, being from off the island and all, but there's been a string of car thefts plaguing Marabonne City. It might not be safe to leave your vehicle just sitting out here, where it'll make a tempting target for the lower elements."

Jerren puckered his lips. "I see. Well, I suppose I might just take advantage of your little service then---and I assume you're parking my car in a secure facility?"

"None more," the younger man assured him.

Shrugging, Jerren handed the young man his keys. "Take it away, then. I'll see you in two hours---maybe more, if we can't hammer things out quickly."

"You got it." The young man brushed by Jerren, nearly knocking into the foreigner before jumping into Jerren's somewhat expensive-looking automobile. Waving a smile at the older man, the erstwhile valet grinned wolfishly, fingering the businessman's wallet, which he had pilfered in the near-collision. He waved at the unsuspecting businessman as he zoomed off, never to be seen by him again. "This beauty will fetch at least fifty, maybe sixty thousand zenny," the young man said to himself, "or my name isn't Bonne!"

Teisel kept the stereo pumping loud as he drove his newest catch back to the chop shop, one which he'd personally set up with the help of his friends. Of course, he hadn't been lying to the outlander -- there really _was_ a string of car thefts going on in Marabonne City, most of which had been perpetrated by Teisel himself. Sure, he wasn't the only one stealing cars, but Teisel found that there was a perverse delight in actually committing the crime himself. Giving the orders felt natural, of course -- with his pedigree, it was to be expected -- but he didn't like sitting behind the scenes.

He pulled the car up to a nondescript body shop, honked twice, and puled the stolen vehicle inside. He hopped out as his crew began tearing the rented vehicle apart. It was local, so there was no sense in keeping it whole and having the authorities trace it back to them. Teisel sighed. "There's something about stealing a car in broad daylight that just makes life worth living."

"There's no real thrill in it for you," a feminine voice replied. "If you get caught, your father will make sure you're released almost immediately. There'll be no jail time for you, Teisel Bonne."

Teisel smiled, gripping Lytrel's hand gently. "I think you're overestimating his fondness for me. The Duke hasn't really approved of my lifestyle since I was fourteen, so I wouldn't be surprised if he let me rot in jail for a few years. He'd probably think it would help me build character." Leaning over, he stole a kiss from the dark, athletic car fence.

She stared up at him. "Those warm Bonne eyes. I think they're the reason everyone lets your family order us around. I know I'd follow you anywhere."

Releasing her, Teisel grimaced. "Family. I can't think of anything I find less important." He raised his voice, so that it would be heard across the garage. "Ledon knows what I'm talking about. Right, Ledon?"

"You bet," called a young mechanic, maybe a year or two older than Teisel. Like the eldest Bonne, Ledon was a member of a prominent noble family, although he was one of the younger members of the clan. Ledon had chosen to leave his homeland in order to escape his heritage, something Teisel wasn't sure he could have done in the same place. In fact, something Teisel _hadn't_ done, as the eldest of the Bonne siblings still lived on his family island, in his family's city, and even slept on his family's home if he took the fancy. As he'd often remarked to his closest cohorts, it would be a shame to force the oppressively heavy burden of the family legacy on his baby sister. "We still on for tonight, Teisel?"

He shot Ledon a fierce grin. "You know it. It's not often a shipment of refractors comes in on a boat." It was somewhat rare, since boats had gone out of fashion almost half a century earlier, when the first single-refractor skyship engines had become mass produced. "The south docks, right? At seven."

"Yup," Ledon nodded. "They're making port pretty late. Probably so that none of Marabonne's seedier elements get word about the shipment."

"Kind of a pity that didn't work," Lytrel observed. "Do you have time for something to eat, Teisel?"

"I'm afraid not," he lamented. "I realize it's ironic, considering our most recent topic of conversation, but I promised Mother I'd visit her today. Not something I'm particularly looking forward to, but if I can make her happy, she'll probably keep the old man off my back."

Lytrel laughed grimly. "You wouldn't have the guts to be an outlaw without your family to protect you."

Ledon shook his head, his long blond hair quavering as he did so. "I don't blame him. I wouldn't, either. This isn't my island, but I'm pretty sure my noble blood would still protect me if I ever got caught. Being a noble outlaw has its advantages."

"A noble outlaw?" Teisel pumped his fist dramatically into the air. "There _**is**_ nothing more noble than the outlaw himself! I swear to you, my friends, that were I penniless, unknown, and free of obligation, I would ever fight to relieve those born better off than I of their undeserved possessions!"

"A bit over-dramatic," Lytrel commented.

"More than a bit, I'd say," Ledon said.

Teisel rolled his eyes. "Please," he said as he stalked toward the exit. "Drama is the essence of villainy." With a bow, he left the shop.

For all of his bluster, the sight of the Bonne family palace always took the edge out of Teisel's street persona. Once the vaulted towers, lush gardens, and marble fountains came within sight, the eldest Bonne son found himself shrinking emotionally, reverting from a confident, capable man into a resentful, withdrawn child. While the palace was definitely the largest dwelling on Marabonne Island, it was also true that most of the island's inhabitants had houses that were, on the whole, larger than average. Thanks to its fortuitous location on the globe, Teisel's homeland was the locus of a number of worldwide shipping routes, meaning that while Marabonne was home to no one particular industry, almost every conceivable type of trade good could be found there.

The gatekeeper nodded at Teisel as he reached the top of the hill. The youth had been coming and going from the palace as he pleased for years, and by now most of the guards had become familiar with his routine. Certainly familiar enough to not question the Duke's son as he entered the palace grounds.

Though the family manor was ornate, Teisel was intimately familiar with nearly every inch of the grounds, and easily wound his way through corridors, antechambers, conservatories, and, in the interest of saving time, took a couple of the secret passageways, some of which even the servants didn't know about. While the palace was large beyond all reasonable expectations, the Bonne family itself tended to cluster in a series of rooms near the southwestern corner of the manor house, and saved other three-quarters of their house for ceremonial occasions, or, in the case of one particular wing, for _never_, as Teisel could not recall anything ever happening in the Jade Hall, although that was probably because the floor tiles were far too valuable to stand upon.

Looping up a spiraling staircase, he emerged into the western gardens and, flipping backwards off a window sill, grabbed hold of a nearby balcony and re-entered the palace. Sure, it would have been a bit simpler to just walk across the grounds, but not nearly as dramatic. After all, appearances were still important, even when no one was watching. As he strode across the tiled floor, he called to an elegantly-dressed lady on the floor below. "Mother!" he said, leaning casually on the metallic railing. "Here I am, just as I promised."

Teisel's mother, the duchess, was one of those women who could have looked classy wearing a potato sack, although, fortunately, being a duke's wife, she had never been forced to do so. Her distinctive hairstyle had somewhat defined her amongst the local society, and it appeared to be genetic, as Teisel's younger sister had started sporting a similar look almost immediately after birth, and the similarity had only increased as she grew. Fortunately, Teisel himself seemed to have missed out on this particular family trait, as his cinnamon-colored hair tended to fall into a more normal arrangement. Still, it was growing harder to ignore the burgeoning patches of grey at his temples. Even Lytrel had remarked upon their growing dominance.

"It's good to see you, son," the duchess called from the lower floor, waving gently at him.

"I'll be right down," Teisel called, and, placing both hands on the railing, vaulted over the balcony and fell downward. As he hit the floor, he bent his knees to compensate, distributing most of the shock of impact across his entire body. Totally unnecessary, of course, but it did save time. "What do you think?"

But it wasn't his mother who answered. "I should have known you couldn't walk down the stairs like a normal person," a familiar voice said with disdain.

"But, father," Teisel said with a mock bow, "we aren't normal people. We come from a higher pedigree, so we have to hold ourselves to a higher standard."

Unlike Teisel's mother, who was clearly favored by her daughter, Duke Bonne's face possessed a hardness that none of the Bonne children seemed to share. His thin, narrow eyes, pencil-thin mustache, and closely cut hair lent him an air of efficiency, one that Teisel had carefully cultivated his own image to reject. Possibly Bon would look more like their father when he got older, but Teisel fervently hoped his baby brother would be spared that burden.

"A higher standard? Strange that you would mention that. How many cars have you stolen this week?"

Teisel grinned. "Now, father, that's never been proven."

Perhaps it was Teisel's imagination, but his father's brow seemed to twitch. "If you're going to prey on the innocent, I wish you'd do it on someone else's island!"

"Don't think I haven't considered it!" Teisel said loudly, watching as the Duke stormed away, "but I don't want you to put Tron through the same torments you made me suffer!" These last words echoed in the chamber, unheard by their intended recipient.

"I think he might, anyway," Teisel's mother said from his left. "He wants at least one of his children to learn about leadership, so he says."

Laughing softly, Teisel gave his mother a short kiss, an apology for fighting with her husband. "Leading has nothing to do with financial statements and earnings reports. It's about being able to make quick decisions and inspiring men to follow you."

The duchess favored her oldest son with a knowing smile. "You're not half as rebellious as you'd have us believe."

"Or maybe I'm twice as rebellious as you think, and I'm just hiding it to spare your feelings."

"No," she said, shaking her head slowly. "I've known you a very long time, you see, and I don't think that sounds very much like you." She sighed and looked upstairs. "Will you be staying for dinner, Teisel? I'm sure your brother and sister would like to see you."

Teisel checked his wristwatch. "I'm afraid not, Mother. I have an appointment this evening." Which was true. At least he didn't have to come up with an excuse this time.

"Hold on a moment before you leave," his mother said, ringing a bell on the nearby table. After a few seconds, a short man clad in the blue uniform of the Bonne family servants trotted in.

"Yes, Miss Bonne?" he asked politely.

"Would you fetch Lord Teisel's gift, please?"

"Of course, Miss Bonne," Bowing, the little blue-clad man shuffled back down the corridor. A few seconds later, he returned, bearing a small black box. "Here you are, Master Teisel," he said, offering the gift.

"Thank you," Teisel said, grabbing the box and cracking it open as the little man dressed in blue trundled away. It contained a small black length of what appeared to be cord. Removing the strange object, he examined it, noticing that as he twisted it around his finger, it held its shape rather than loosening when he let go.

"It's for your hair," his mother said. "I always thought it looked cute when you were a little boy and wore it up in a topknot."

"Err, uh, thanks," Teisel said, playing around with the odd hair tie. "I think my hair's a little long and bushy to get away with that anymore, though." Also, more importantly, he'd always hated wearing his hair in a topknot.

"It's actually a little valuable," the duchess added. "It's from an island in the far north called Kalinka, and it's made from a bunch of tiny refractors that work together to hold their shape. It'll hold together until you take it off, and it should last forever, in theory."

"Really?" Teisel eyed the stringy object. Why not give it a try? Gathering his hair with his left hand, he used his right to wrap the accessory around his ample locks. Looking in a large, ornate mirror, he saw that instead of leaving his hair hanging around his shoulders, this made his hair shoot upward, framing his face almost as if it were surrounded by flames. If one ignored the ample amount of premature grey, it actually looked far better than he had expected. "Thank you, mother," he said earnestly, giving the duchess one more peck on the cheek before taking his leave.

"Don't stay away too long, son," she called after him.

"Yes, Mother," he answered dutifully, taking the stairs so as not to offend the Duke, although there was no way that his father could have seen.

**NEXT TIME: **The Attack

**AND NOW, A SPECIAL MESSAGE FROM THE CHARACTERS OF "A DIFFERENT TIME:"**

"Hi," said Teisel Bonne, spreading his arms to indicate the other characters that surrounded him. "I'm Teisel Bonne, one of the stars of 'A Different Time,' and from all of us here, I'd like to say thanks to our fans out there."

"That's right," said Servitor Gretz as the spotlight swerved from Teisel. "Without your support, we never would have gotten another chapter in our story, and for fan-made characters like myself, that would have been simply disastrous."

"Who knows what would have happened if you hadn't kept up your calls, emails, and letters of support," said Matilda, striding willfully in front of Gretz. "After all, if the story had simply stopped where it was, how would MegaMan and I ever have -- whoops! We don't want to give away any of the plot twists!"

"We're grateful _**for**_ the help you've _**given **_us," said Servbot Number Forty, clearly reading off of cue cards. "We hope _**we**_ can count _**on**_ you to keep reading in _**the**_ future. Walk away so Roll Casket can enter the spotlight," he added, reciting his stage directions.

"In return for your continued readership," Roll said, kicking Forty gently, as the youngest Servbot had simply stood stock still and stared blankly at her, "we promise to continue to make the story as interesting and true to the spirit of i MegaMan Legends /i as possible. More importantly, we promise to never indulge in the depths of absurdity or fan service, like having the characters dance around naked, or anything."

"You mean after _this time_, of course," corrected Gretz.

"Right," Roll affirmed.

Then, the characters proceeded to strip naked and dance around for hours on end. Except for Number Forty, of course, who, being a robot, was already naked, or at least he thought so, but wasn't sure. Forty ended up spending the next five hours contemplating whether or not a robot could actually _be _naked, but wasn't completely satisfied with his conclusions by the time the party was over and Teisel had dragged him back to the Gesellschaft.


	8. The Attack

The constant lapping of the waves was all that could be heard as Teisel made his up the pier. Sure, he could have stayed at the manor and had a sumptuous feast with his parents and younger siblings, but what allure did food have when compared with grand larceny?

None, of course. Standing on the dock, the young outlaw peered off into the distance, where, in theory, the sea ship full of refractors was nearing Marabonne Island. It was still a good half hour early, but Teisel thought he reasonably might have caught sight of the boat by now.

"Teisel," called a familiar voice from behind him. "Quite punctual, as always."

Teisel shrugged. "When a good opportunity arises, you shouldn't hesitate to take advantage."

"I couldn't agree more," Ledon said, his hazel eyes flashing. "I'm pretty sure nothing's going to happen for a little longer. The boys and I are hiding out in that warehouse over there. Why don't you come and join us? We'll have a few drinks before the show begins."

Teisel shrugged and followed his lieutenant back up the docks to the relatively small wooden warehouse. While it was clearly intended for temporary storage of goods before being shipped onward or being taken into the city, Teisel was surprised at the sheer amount of people crammed into the small, creaky structure. Some of the gathered riffraff he knew from his travails among Marabonne's less reputable neighborhoods, others he couldn't recall meeting before.

"I see a lot of new faces here," he said, nodding at a familiar red-headed face as he and Ledon walked past. "Have you been doing some recruiting?"

Ledon grinned wolfishly. "Of a sort. Most of them are off-islanders. Some sky pirates, a few assorted thugs. When you're pulling off a big operation like this, you want all the muscle you can get."

"Really?" Teisel said, scratching his head. "I didn't think it would take this many people to knock over a simple boat. Even if they have armed guards, a dozen or so of us should be enough to handle it."

Ledon squeezed through a few more toughs and grabbed a green bottle off a nearby table. "It might be, if that was all we were doing." He poured a bit of red liquid into a long-stemmed glass. "Fancy some wine?"

Something in the back of Teisel's mind wasn't sitting right. "No, thanks. I don't think getting drunk before a big job is a very good idea."

Sighing, Ledon set the glass back down, contents untouched. "I was afraid you might say that. Louis? Gremmy?"

Teisel felt a presence behind him. Flipping around, he saw that two hulking brutes were standing uncomfortable close to him. The one on the right was brandishing a two-by-four in his left hand. He turned back to Ledon, a inquiring look on his face.

"It would have been easier for you to drink the wine, Teisel," Ledon said mournfully. He motioned sharply.

Before Teisel could say anything else, he felt an explosion at the base of his skull. His index finger still pointed in accusation at his former ally, his knees buckled and he sank to the ground, succumbing to the spiraling darkness that enveloped him.

It was a long time before Teisel regained consciousness. Ideally, the pirate-to-be would have wished for a speedy, self-reliant recovery that suited his preconceptions and personality perfectly. Unfortunately, this did not turn out to be the case.

"Are you okay, boss?"

Teisel groaned and rubbed the back of his head. "Not really." He opened his eyes to find the red-headed thug from earlier looking down at him with concern. He was stout but powerfully built, and the large handlebar mustache beneath his broad nose matched the litter of red curls atop his thick head. Aside from the redhead and Teisel himself, though, the warehouse appeared to be empty. "I know you, don't I?"

"Uh, yeah," said the stocky man, perhaps a year or two older than Teisel was. He offered a hand to the youth. Teisel grasped it and was hauled to his feet. "I work in the chop shop, and engage in a few other...less than completely legal pursuits."

"Right," Teisel said, scratching his chin. "You're...umm...Bohan, right?"

"Bohannon," the man corrected, shrugging, as if it were his fault that Teisel couldn't remember his name. "That was a pretty nasty hit you took. To be honest, I'm surprised you survived it."

Teisel nodded in agreement, then instantly regretted it as a sharp pain shot through his skull. "I think that was the idea." Gingerly touching the injured area, he felt around for a clear sign of a wound but didn't fine one. While the back of his head smarted nearly in its entirety, there didn't seem to be one particular point of impact. As his fingers brushed a familiar object, he let out an involuntary laugh.

"What is it?"

Gently untying his hair, Teisel produced the odd hair ornament his mother had given him mere hours earlier. "I'm thinking that two-by-four slammed right into this thing. It's made of refractors, and, in theory, it'll hold its shape until I personally move it." He couldn't wipe the delighted grin from his face and started playing around with the hair band just to prove that he could. "Looks like Mother gave me life twice over. I should really steal her a car or something." His expression darkened as he recalled his current situation. "What happened? How long have I been out?"

"More than an hour, I'd say," Bohannon guessed. "I couldn't stick around without looking suspicious, so I followed everyone else out into the street. Ledon had us split up once we'd hit the inner city, so I doubled back to check up on you. You're lucky they didn't just throw you into the ocean."

Teisel grunted. "Kind of sloppy, that. Of course, hitting me in the back of the head with a board was pretty sloppy to begin with." Gathering his long hair up, he tied it back again, just in case there were any more assassination attempts. "I don't get it, though. Did Ledon really think killing me would instantly give him control of all crime on Marabonne? I'm basically small potatoes, compared to some of the guys around here."

"I don't know if that's what he had in mind," Bohannon said, scratching his mustache. "He hired a whole lot of guys to just take over our gang..."

As if in response to Bohannon's musings, a detonation erupted in the distance. Teisel grabbed onto the table as the ground shook. Before either man could speak, another explosion tore through the air, although this one was further away than the last. Upon reaching the door, Teisel's fears were realized. "Follow me. We've got to get to the palace."

Marabonne Island was under attack.

**NEXT TIME:** _Les Fiers Bonnes_


	9. Les Fiers Bonnes

Teisel dodged through the chaos of the Marabonne City streets, trying desperately to reach his family's home. Ledon's assault upon Teisel's person had clearly illustrated the outlaw's intent to oust Teisel as leader of his particular gang, but the oldest of the Bonne offspring hadn't realized the true scope of Ledon's maneuverings until leaving the seaport. More than a dozen skyships littered the atmosphere, each raining destruction upon his city. Ledon didn't want control of Marabonne's underworld -- he wanted the whole island, which meant he'd have to get rid of the island's rightful rulers one way or another. That left Teisel with little choice -- he had to reach his family before his former right-hand man.

Behind him, Bohannon struggled to keep up, the stocky man having even more difficulty weaving through the throngs of people, vehicles, and abandoned property. "Teisel!" he called, breathing heavily. "Hold up a second! This isn't going to work."

Waving, Teisel positioned himself by a lamppost on a nearby street corner and waited for his associate to catch up. The young nobleman shielded his eyes as another shell collided with one of Marabonne's high-rises, although the detonation was too far away for any shattered glass or metal to land near him. The waves of people continued to crowd past him, seeking either refuge in underground shelters or escape from the city.

"It'll take us forever to reach the palace at this rate," Bohannon gasped, finally making his way to where Teisel waited. He leaned heavily against the post. "I can barely squeeze through everybody and everything on the streets as it is, and I'm guessing driving's out of the question. Is there any way we can reach a small skyship or something?"

"Not likely," Teisel said, spitting. The smoke and dust floating in the air around him was leaving a disgusting taste in his mouth. Was there another way to get to the family manor? He wracked his brain, checking the street name and what he knew of Marabonne City. "I've got it. Follow me; I'll explain on the way."

Teisel subconsciously slowed his pace as he charged northward, allowing Bohannon to better keep up. "After settling this island, my ancestors built numerous secret passages, not only inside the palace, but throughout the city. If I'm right, there should be an underground hallway that will take us directly inside Bonne Manor just a few blocks north of here."

"That's good news," Bohannon huffed. "We'll still have to walk, but at least we won't need to deal with everyone up here."

As if on cue, a piercing wail cut through the din. It took Teisel's green eyes mere seconds to locate its origin, a young girl standing alone in the middle of the avenue. Seemingly unnoticed by the mobs of people rushing past, Teisel saw her buffeted time and again by oblivious, uncaring citizens concerned with only their own welfare. The heir to the Bonne line plowed through the pulsing sea, lifting the child bodily as he reached her, and just as quickly pushed his way back to his companion.

"Are you all right?" he asked the girl. She was young, possibly a year or two older than his sister, and had blond hair that hung from the back of her head in two separate tails. Her brown eyes were bloodshot through, and Teisel used his sleeve to wipe the tears from her cheeks. "Don't worry. We're going to help you."

Bohannon got on his knees, although he wasn't that much taller than the girl to begin with. "Cheer up, okay?" He made an odd face at the girl, probably intended to make her laugh, but it had quite the opposite effect.

"Stop scaring her," Teisel ordered,

"My daddy's gone," the girl cried. "He left me behind!"

She started sniffling again, and, worried another flood of tears was oncoming, Teisel quickly reassured her. "I'm sure he's looking for you right now. Listen to me," he said in a commanding tone, placing his index finger at the tip of her nose, grabbing her attention. "We'll find your father for you, or my name isn't Bonne. Understand?"

The girl's reddened eyes widened. "You're a Bonne?"

Teisel smiled. "That's right. And when a Bonne gives you his word, you can count on it." Fortunately, Teisel needed barely any time to make good on his promise. Just as the last words had left his lips, he noticed a frantic man darting through the crowds, shouting.

"Have you seen a little blond girl? Please, I need to find my daughter!"

"Over here!" Teisel shouted, waving the man down. He and Bohannon began slowly inching their way towards the man, who had short brown hair and a prominent pair of glasses. He reached for the girl as soon as he caught sight of her.

"Daddy!"

"Luna!" he gasped in relief, clutching her to his chest. "I had hold of her hand, but she got torn away from me somewhere. I think I went a couple of blocks before I even noticed."

"It's okay," Teisel reassured him. "It was an accident, and everything's all right now. Do you know where you're going?"

Luna's father shrugged. "Where is anyone going? Out of the city, I suppose, until this all blows over."

Teisel shook his head. "You'll never get out of the city with things this way." He scratched his chin. Suddenly, a hidden memory resurfaced. "My grandfather built a series of bomb shelters throughout the city about fifty years ago, back during the war. I think there's one on the corner of 58th Street and Briar. You can get in by pressing the Berry Burple button on the vending machine eight times in a row."

"Your grandfather?" The man's expression changed as recognition dawned on him. "Wait -- you're Teisel Bonne!"

Teisel smiled. "That's right. The Public Works Department has been servicing the shelters fairly regularly, so there should be a supply of food and drinkable water in there. I think it can support up to a hundred people for two weeks or more. Take as many people as you can down there, because I don't think this will last more than another day or so. I'm making you the Shelter Captain, so you're in charge, okay?"

Luna's father nodded, but the girl herself was not so easily mollified. "Where are you going, Mr. Bonne? Aren't you coming with us?"

Shaking his head, Teisel ruffled Luna's hair affectionately. "I have to go save my own family. We may have to leave for a while, but I promise I'll come back. You know what happens when a Bonne gives you his word, right?"

Luna nodded vigorously. "You can count on it!"

"You got it," he said proudly, shaking her father's hand. "Be safe," he wished them, and motioning for Bohannon, resumed his trek to the underground passage. They finally found access to the tunnel about ten minutes later, after Teisel twisted the knob on a parking meter five times counterclockwise and a panel in the sidewalk slid open.

The underground corridor was dark, but an ancient series of lights still seemed to be in working order -- one of the benefits of refractor power. While the tunnel seemed to be intact, Teisel could still hear the sounds of explosions and gunfire from the surface. At one point, the ground shook, and Teisel and Bohannon were both thrown against a wall, but the two quickly regained their feet and continued forward.

"We need a way to get my family out of here," Teisel said as they trudged forward. "I could get us a car, but that wouldn't do us any good."

"Actually, I have a ship ready for just such an occasion," Bohannon said. "It's at the west docks."

"That shows a remarkable amount of foresight on your part," Teisel said in a complimentary tone.

"Yeah, once I got some money saved up, I got myself a small seaship for getaway purposes. They're really cheap, not much more than a car is, now that sky travel is all the rage. It's mostly a small houseboat, but it'll at least get us to the next island, maybe a little farther."

They were ascending now, which told Teisel they were almost to the manor. Indeed, the sounds of the battle were growing louder, as well. Marabonne had a police force but no mobilized army, so they civilian authorities were the only line of defense against Ledon's assault. Teisel wondered if the police were still putting up a fight. They hadn't been that well-suited to deal with regular crime, a fact to which he himself could well attest, so it seemed implausible that they could handle a large-scale attack of this nature.

The two climbed a final set of stairs and entered the Bonne family house. "We'll get Bon first," Teisel said, knowing that the youngest Bonne's chambers were the closest. After retrieving his baby brother, he'd continue on through his parents' quarters and then fetch Tron from her room in the east wing. Of course, that assumed that everyone was where he or she was supposed to be. If they weren't, well, he'd burn that bridge when he came to it.

Sections of the building were burning. Teisel darted through the wide hallways, far easier going than the streets of Marabonne, and drew a bead on Bon's room. He broke into a sprint when he saw the smoke flooding out of the open door. "Is anyone in there?" Teisel called as he and Bohannon approached the door. "Bon!" he shouted, aware that his brother could not respond in any meaningful way.

As he sped through the door, he could hear his baby brother's cries. A good sign -- it meant he was still alive. Holding the fabric of his shirt in front of his nose and mouth, Teisel stumbled forward, the smoke stinging his eyes. He could vaguely see a dark, tilted shape in the shadows, and, with his ears confirming the way, managed to find his baby brother after fumbling around on the floor. Tucking Bon inside his trench coat, Teisel dashed out of the room, not stopping until he had reached clean air.

"He doesn't look good," Bohannon remarked as Teisel withdrew Bon from his hiding place.

"No, he doesn't." It was obvious that Bohannon was correct. Bon's face was nearly green and his eyes were milky. The baby let out a small cough, and his lungs rattled with each breath. "He's inhaled a lot of smoke."

Looking what was possibly his last remaining companion, Teisel made a snap decision. "I want you to take Bon and go to the boat, now."

Bohannon looked confused. "What? But, Boss, I don't think I should leave you alone--"

"It doesn't matter," Teisel said. "What matters is that the Bonne line continues. If we split up, there's a greater chance that either Bon or I will survive. Ideally, I can get the rest of us out of here before anyone else is hurt. Take the boat and meet us in the east city. I'll leave directly from Tron's wing and meet you there."

"Boss, there's a chance that your brother might not even make it back to the boat. I think---"

"Don't say that!" Teisel yelled, then softened his tone. "Trust me, this is for the best. Think of it as a stage play: You are the loyal family retainer, smuggling the last of the royal line to safety. What could be more exciting? Except, of course, in this instance, the rest of the family will show up later. In theory, anyway."

Bohannon still looked dubious, but since he was used to following Teisel's commands, he nodded shortly and said, "I'll meet you by Pier 53 on the east side. Don't bother not showing up." After a quick look, Bohannon turned around and started jogging back towards the hidden tunnel.

Teisel didn't envy the red-haired man his journey, but didn't know that his would be any more enjoyable. While his mother would likely be no problem, with his father's complaining and Tron's insatiable curiosity, the Bonnes' march through the city would be as inconspicuous as a circus parade.

The next hallway was collapsed, so Teisel hopped out one of the windows and began traversing the grounds, much as he had earlier. This time, the skyships were raining fire and bullets onto his city. It seemed one or more of the skyships were focusing on the manor in particular, as there seemed to be an inordinate amount of damage to the manor when compared with the rest of the city. Hoping that Luna and her father had reached the shelter safely, Teisel climbed up a series of vines to the second floor, emerging into his parents' wing, onto the same balcony he'd been on that afternoon. This time, however, the window was shattered, leaving him free entry. As he entered, he noticed that several portrats, curtains, and portions of the ceiling were ablaze, much like in Bon's rooms.

"Mother!" he called. "Father!"

He leaned over the railing and called again, checking in the antechamber behind to see if either of his parents had already tried to leave. Seeing they weren't in there, he moved to the staircase, only to find that it was blocked off by flames and rubble. He ran back to the edge of the balcony and called again.

"Teisel!" It was the Duchess. Her gown scorched and torn, she stumbled out of the door to his father's study. Teisel was amazed that, even in times of crisis, she seemed to carry herself regally.

"Don't try the stairs! I'll help you up!" He turned around, searching for something, anything he could use as a rope. After a few desperate seconds, he located a set of drapes that hadn't yet caught fire. Wrapping them around the railing, he tied them in a tight knot and cast it over the side. "Grab on, I'll pull you up!"

She shook her head, looking back into the study. "Teisel...your father...he's..."

"Don't worry about him! You climb up first, then I'll go get him!"

His mother's eyes looked dark. "No, we should get him first." She refused to look Teisel in the eye.

"He's dead, isn't he?" Teisel said, voicing his suspicion. "He was killed in the last blast."

"No!" his mother screamed up at him, her eyes watering. "He needs our help! Why are you waiting?"

He shook the paisley-colored fabric. "Just grab the curtain! I'll pull you up! I promise I'll go back for him once you're safe!"

The Duchess looked soundlessly at him, then back at the study, as if she were trying to make up her mind. There would be time to deal with the loss of his father later. Right now, he needed to get his mother out of the manor.

Teisel decided to try a different tactic. "Come on, Mother! We need to get moving! Tron still needs our help."

That got her attention. She looked up at him with recognition starting to dawn on her face. "Tron..?"

He'd gotten through! "That's right. She's waiting for us. We need to go!"

"But...your father..."

"I'm coming down for you!" he called, making a split-second decision. "We'll find another way out together! Just wait for me!" Teisel grabbed on to the railing with one hand and raised his right foot, preparing to vault over. Just as he placed his weight on the railing, however, another explosion rocked the manor, knocking onto the floor of the balcony. It took Teisel a couple of minutes to recover, as his head had slammed into the marble floor.

Staring directly up, he saw clear twilight sky. Evidently, some of the ceiling had caved in from the blast. It took another couple of moments before the realization hit him. "Mother!" he cried, leaping up from the cold floor. He wasted no time and vaulted over the railing, ignoring the pain in his head and limbs. "Mother!" he called again, tearing the broken pieces of Bonne Manor off of where the Duchess had been standing. After moving a dozen or so pieces, he finally found her gloved hand alone sticking out of the pile, Grasping it, he called for her once more. "Mother! Can you hear me?"

Much like the Duchess had earlier, Teisel didn't want to face the truth. After uncovering his mother's body further, though, he had no choice but to accept the fact that she had been killed in the blast. He stood up slowly and walked into what was left of his father's study. While he couldn't definitively see his father's body, from the severe amount of damage to the room, he had to conclude that even if his father had been alive before the blast, he certainly wasn't now.

Teisel had already climbed back up to the balcony by the time the truth sunk in: Both of his parents were dead. He would never talk to his mother again, never reconcile with his father. His eyes were burning. Sinking to his knees, Teisel looked down, saw his mother's lifeless hand, and couldn't prevent a sound from escaping his lips. He couldn't help himself; it simply hurt too much.

He laughed. Teisel's body convulsed as small giggles racked through his body, followed by chuckles, then loud guffaws. The absurdity of his situation was too great. Eventually, Teisel Bonne threw back his head and cackled maniacally, thrusting his clenched fists into the air as the sounds of his laughter echoed off the marble and bounced through the halls of his ancestral home.

**NEXT TIME:** Teisel and Tron


	10. Teisel and Tron

Teisel was in a daze. He walked aimlessly through Bonne Manor, staring at random mirrors, sculptures, paintings, tapestries, and, perhaps most strangely, at the various signs of the brutal invasion now taking place upon his ancestral soil. Scorch marks, flames, and shattered walls, columns, and furniture littered the once-pristine hallways. The environs were practically deserted. Those servants, household attendants, and guests who had not been killed had already fled. Perhaps Teisel should have felt outraged at their disloyalty, but he couldn't blame them for leaving. What was left to protect?

After a a few dozen more mindless steps, Teisel leaned against the green wall, bowed his head, and slowly slid to the floor. He stared without comprehension at the jade-covered tiles, and the passage of time seemed indeterminable as the manor was pelted with shells and explosives.

"Teisel?"

Now he was imagining things. There was no one left in the palace, no one to ask if he was all right. Certainly there was no one standing in front of him, despite what his eyes were telling him.

"Teisel, what are you doing here? Why didn't you run?"

He slowly looked up. "What?" he asked weakly. With a start, he realized who was standing in front of him. "Lytrel! You came to help me?"

Her dark eyes darted back and forth. "Yes, of course that's why I'm here. What kind of idiocy possessed you to return to the manor? This is the place Ledon would hit the hardest!"

Shaking his head, Teisel regained his sense of purpose and gradually stood. "And why wouldn't I come back?" he said angrily. "You think I have no sense of filial loyalty? The fierce Bonnes have their pride, after all!"

Lytrel's thin lips pursed together before issuing a blistering tirade. "You stubborn _moron_! You were already at the south pier, why didn't you just run away once you came to--?" Lytrel didn't have the chance to finish her statement, as Teisel leaned forward and mashed his lips against hers.

Reinvigorated, Teisel looked deeply into her with his liquid green eyes. "Thank you for caring, but I happen to be here for a reason. Bohannon has taken my brother to the east docks. Pier 53. Meet us there."

"Like fun. I should stay here with you."

"Probably," Teisel said, "but Tron doesn't know you. I have to...explain things to her, tell her that our mother and father...won't be there anymore." It took all of Teisel's willpower not to begin sobbing at this, but he had to keep a brave face on in front of a lady.

"What?" Lytrel's jaw dropped at the news. "Your parents are dead?"

"Yes," Teisel said softly. "I saw Mother...meet her end myself. The ceiling caved in and crushed her."

"So it was an accident," Lytrel said, shaking her head vigorously. "No one actually murdered your parents."

"Of course they were murdered!" Teisel said, incredulous. "Ledon might not have pushed them off a balcony himself, but he may as well have." He gritted his teeth as his sorrow gave way to rage. "I swear, someday I'll have my revenge. I'll take my island back."

Lytrel looked at him, shocked, possibly by the news of his parents' deaths, or perhaps by his steel-willed resolve. Teisel was equally shocked by the power of his emotion: he'd never felt anything so strongly in his life.

He placed a gentle hand on her chest. "Go, my heart. Meet us at the dock. I'll fetch Tron and be right behind you. Besides," he added, smirking, "Bohannon is all alone with my baby brother. He could probably use a woman's help."

Lytrel snorted. "I wouldn't do any better than he would, likely." She seemed reluctant to leave, but then, something in her mind appeared to click, and she sped away, giving him a last look.

Teisel parted from the woman with a flourish, some of his old flair returning to him. The green walls told him he was in the Jade Hall, which, as he recalled, was on the eastern side of the palace. Imagine, after all that he'd been through, even in his daze, he was seeking Tron.

Having been in the Jade Hall only twice in his life, the eldest Bonne had more than a bit of difficulty navigating the corridors. While they were as wide and roomy as any in the Bonne family manor, the twists and turns were less familiar to him, and, he had to admit it, it seemed like he was getting lost. Catching sight of an open window in the upper corner of an atrium, Teisel leapt upward, clutching the door frame and hauling himself upward. Once he was outside, it was easy to see his way to Tron's rooms. Teisel clambered up to a third-floor walkway, jogged across, and entered his sister's chambers.

Just as Teisel was about to open Tron's door, he heard something from down below. He leaned over and caught sight of a group of men standing below, weapons in hand.

"There he is!" shouted one, pointing up at him.

What? How had the pirates even known where he was? Teisel had little time to consider the possibilities, as one of the rogues fired a large tubular weapon. He dove away as the projectile impacted, seemingly rocking the very foundation of Bonne Manor. As he smacked onto the floor for the third time in a day, Teisel heard a scream in the distance, and hoped it wasn't Lytrel. Lifting himself up, he saw that the walkway he'd just used was broken in half, and smoke from a nearby blaze was choking him. It would spread to Tron's bedchamber in minutes. He needed to get her out there, fast.

The door was stuck. He ran into it once, twice, three times. On the fourth time, it finally broke free, and he charged in. Tron's room was not furnished as he might have expected. Although like most little girls, she was fond of the color pink, Tron had very little of the normal accoutrements a girl her age was expected to acquire. Instead of dollhouses, skip-ropes, and tiaras, Tron had surrounded herself with erector sets and toy robots.

None of which was important at the moment. "I've got to get you out of here, Tron," Teisel said from above her, placing a protective hand on her back.

While Tron had clearly been absorbed with her own interests, she quickly offered her attention to her older brother. "What's happening?"

"Ledon Mauvais is trying to take over the island. He and some of his pirate allies are attacking the palace. We need to leave before they find us." How to get Tron out of here? Grabbing her hand, Teisel led his sister to the door, then changed his mind. "My 'worthless' friends have already smuggled Bon to safety, so---" He grabbed Tron's bedpost as another explosion shook the palace. Could he hear voices outside? "I think they're almost here, Tron. We'll have to go out the window."

"Wait!" Tron called, pulling away from him. Strangely, the one item Tron decided to take with her was a drawing, perhaps done with crayon. "Okay, we can go now." Looking closer, Teisel was surprised to discover that the sketch was much more complicated than a child of Tron's age should have been capable of producing. It showed a kind of robotic suit that allowed a pilot to sit inside, and the weapons and parts necessary were show in great detail. Teisel guessed a small figure in pink on the robot's shoulder was supposed to represent Tron. He wondered if the picture was to scale -- it was more akin to a blueprint than a simple scrawl.

Teisel dashed over to her open window. "It's so high," she protested as he lifted her to his shoulders.

She was clearly frightened. "I know," he said reassuringly, pressing his cheek against Tron's, blocking her vision. "Don't be scared." He gently climbed onto the railing and stepped off, an action which would have left him unconcerned mere hours ago but now filled him with dread, not for his own welfare, but for Tron's.

His knees protested as his feet connected with the grass, but his arms were rock-solid, never coming close to releasing his sister. Looking in every direction, he took off towards the east city, holding Tron close to him. While he could still hear the flames and destruction he was leaving behind, he felt no desire to look back upon the ruins of his childhood home.

"What about Mommy and Daddy?" Tron asked innocently. "Are they coming with us?"

Clenching his eyes, Teisel sniffed. He must not cry! He was the leader of the Bonnes. He had to be strong for his family's sake. "No, Tron. I...tried to save them." Teisel had to stop again, sure that his pain would overwhelm him. He took a shuddering breath and said what perhaps were the most poignant words he had ever spoken. "I tried my best, Tron, but...sometimes your best isn't good enough."

Tron jerked this way and that, trying to get free. "No!" she screamed. "Daddy! Mommy!"

Ducking through a series of flamingo-shaped hedges, Teisel clutched her more tightly. "I don't want to leave them either. I promise, Tron...I promise that I'll always...take care of you." Again, he had to cut off his last word before a sob escaped his mouth. "There's a boat waiting for us at the docks."

"Mommy!" Tron cried again as Teisel made his way into the east city. Teisel felt her hot tears run down his face. They might have been joined by his own, but of course he wasn't crying, still keeping up the strong front for his kid sister.

"Mommy!..." Tron screamed.

He was _not_ crying. In the overwhelming confusion that enveloped Marabonne City, a young man carrying a small girl out of the disarray was hardly noticeable. Strangely, the throngs of people thinned out as Teisel and Tron got closer to the wharf. Perhaps it was a testament to the power of sky travel, but the docks themselves were nearly deserted by the time they actually made it to the ocean.

Hearing the clatter of gunfire behind him, Teisel hid behind a stack of large metal crates. Placing Tron gently on the wooden floor of the pier, Teisel peered around the corner to see a small gunship bearing down on them. A spout of clear liquid emerged from a small turret in the center of the ship, splashing Teisel's face. His eyes stinging, Teisel's reactions were a second too late, as before he could bound to safety, the continuous stream of fluid ignited, sending a shower of flames directly at Teisel's head.

It was the last thing Teisel's eyes would ever see.

**NEXT TIME: **Darkness


	11. Darkness

Part 11: Darkness

Teisel rolled out of bed. It was dark. To anyone else, it was undoubtedly quite bright. The former master car thief could feel the sun hot on his cheek, could hear the gulls calling outside. As always, it took him a few seconds to adjust to the gentle rolling that was always a fact of nautical life. Much like the ancient sailors of old, Teisel was now confined to shipboard life, without a chance of setting foot on land. Well, certainly there was a _chance_ of it happening, followed by nearly as strong of a chance of his imminent arrest and incarceration.

He banged his right knee on the night stand again, grimacing in pain. Shouldn't he have learned where that was by now? It had literally been months since Teisel had started sleeping in these quarters. While the captain's cabin was in no way roomy compared to a Bonne's normal surroundings, it was still the largest sleeping area on the ship. This was a key factor, as two occupants shared the room. A series of muffled coughs rattled from his left, followed by a high-pitched wail.

"Hang on, Bon," Teisel said softly, making his way around the foot of the bed. "I'm coming."

Using his sense of hearing as a gauge, Teisel dipped his hands into the crib and lifted his baby brother, cradling the younger Bonne to his shoulder. "That's it," he said, gently patting Bon's back as he continued his coughing fit. "Get it all out."

Nearly six months and Bon still hadn't gotten better. Apparently, inhaling an inordinately large amount of smoke hadn't been good for the youngest Bonne sibling. Sighing, Teisel sat down on the foot of the bed and continued softly patting his brother. Only Tron had escaped from the siege of Marabonne unscathed, and she was spending all of her time in her workshop, crafting her endless toys. Apparently, she'd been making some impressive things, according to his friends, but Teisel hadn't been particularly impressed by any of them. Of course, this was due more to his own problem than any flaws in Tron's creations.

Blindness was difficult, but at first he'd _known _it was merely a temporary setback. Eyes were one thing -- well, technically, two things -- that could be replaced. He'd gotten Tron onto the boat, which was fortunately mere yards from where he'd lost his sight, and the remaining Bonnes had fled their home island. Unfortunately, according to three physicians he'd seen under an alias, he wasn't a suitable candidate for transplant, condemning him to a life of darkness.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Brown," the last doctor had told him, "but there's no way a transplant is possible. For a Reaverbot eye to work, we have to have a functioning optic nerve. Yours have been fried completely. I can't repair them -- I wouldn't even know where to begin."

And that was that. There was nothing to be done. So, here he was, making the best of a bad situation. With Bon's ailing lungs and Teisel's own blindness, Tron was shaping up to be the only Bonne to have escaped unscathed from their home's destruction, and since she was spending all of her time closeted in the machine shop, Teisel was forced to wonder if she had been scarred somewhat, as well.

Teisel looked up as someone entered his quarters, for all the good it did. He had as little idea after looking as he did before. "Tron? Is that you?"

There was no answer except some particularly hard footsteps across the metallic deck. Teisel felt the vibrations through the bed frame as they came near. Tron must really have been stomping down on the floor! What exactly was she up to, anyway?

"Tron," Teisel began, reciting a litany he would repeat dozens, no, hundreds of times in the years to come, "if I've done something to make you angry, I honestly have no idea what it was..."

"Oh, I'm not angry!" came the overly cheerful reply. It almost sounded as if Tron were trying to make her already youthful voice sound even squeakier than the typical pitch of a nine-year-old girl. "Oops!" With that, there was a huge clatter as something fell loudly to the deck.

"Be careful!" Teisel admonished. "You might break something."

"Don't worry! I didn't break a thing!" he was cheerfully told. "Whoops!"

The resounding din of metal on metal rattled throughout the cabin yet again. Bon, until now silently snoozing on his brother's shoulder, awoke and began wailing in protest. Sighing, Teisel patted Bon gently on the back again and rose from the bed slowly. "Now look what you've done," he chided wearily.

"Sooo-rrryyy..." the squeaky voice apologized, admonished. "Here. Don't worry, I'll take him."

"No, I don't think so," Teisel said, kicking a random bucket out of the way. That was odd. He didn't recall having a bucket in the room before. He started pacing back and forth in gentle circles, rocking his baby brother. As Bon quieted back down, Teisel placed him gently back into his crib, letting the gentle motion of the ship ease the youngest Bonne into sleep.

"What's wrong with you today?" he asked crossly, reaching down to grab his sister's shoulder. "I don't know what you're -- uuuahh?" Not only was Tron's shoulder a tad larger than he recalled it, it also happened to be made of metal. Something was definitely amiss here.

He plopped down onto the foot of the bed again and began feeling te strange person... or object. A large metal object on top of a smaller metal object, with somewhat stubby arms and legs protruding from the smaller one. The round, squat cylinder on top was smooth and warm, and as he ran his fingers over it, he heard a small, involuntary giggle. Teisel felt his curiosity piqued. "Who are you?"

"I'm a Serve-bot!" came the proud answer.

"Huh?" Teisel said, confused. "What in heaven's name is a Serve-bot?"

"I am!" came the Serve-bot's laconic reply. "Miss Tron made me to help you!"

"To help me do what?"

"Ummmm... I don't know!" The Serve-bot may not have known exactly what it was it was here to do, but it certainly was enthusiastic about it.

Could Tron have actually made an intelligent, fully ambulatory robot at her age? Was it even possible? Maybe he should put it to the test. "Could you get me a glass of water?"

"Sure!"

He heard the Serve-bot trundle over to the small lavatory in his cabin and twist the tap. The water ran for a few short seconds and was turned off. Then, the pounding footsteps grew closer to him, and a small plastic cup was thrust into his hand. He lifted it to his lips and took a small draw of the lukewarm tap water, piped in from the ship's reservoir. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Master Teisel!" At least the Serve-bot was polite.

But could it really be true? Could his nine-year old sister have built, powered, and programmed a fully sentient, intelligent robot? Teisel decided to put it to the test. "What's the name of this ship?" he asked coyly.

"The _Fluchtburg_!" the Serve-bot answered, quite correctly.

"And what's my name?"

"Teisel Bonne!"

Well, that one was pretty easy. Now for a trickier one. "What's seventy-five times thirty-seven?"

"Ummmm..." The robot seemed puzzled. "Three?"

Teisel scratched his head. He was pretty sure that answer was wrong, but he had to admit that he didn't really know what the right answer was, either. Still, not wanting to appear uncertain in front of his new servant, he kept his mouth wisely shut.

NEXT TIME: One and Two

**NOTE:** Less than two years! Boo-ya!


	12. Number One and Number Two

It was two weeks before Tron got angry. This wasn't an unusual reaction for a young girl trapped on board a decent-sized, but still somewhat small sailing ship, so Teisel really couldn't blame her. That didn't mean it still wasn't superlatively annoying, though. It took the eldest Bonne a while before he realized that the Serve-bot was the source of the difficulty.

At first, Teisel had been somewhat unnerved by the Serve-bot's presence, cheerful as it might have been. In fact, the practically unceasing good spirits of the diminutive robot - Teisel could tell it was short by the direction from which its voice came - was most likely the source of the young man's discomfort. No matter how unpleasant or unappealing the task, the Serve-bot seemed to be ecstatic to take it on.

Of course, Teisel was reluctant to let the new member of the family do any delicate tasks, particularly those involving Bon, but he realized after a time that delegating certain responsibilities, such as changing Bon's diapers or feeding the infant, were actually better suited to the Serve-bot, who had a fully functional set of senses. Teisel had to fight a burgeoning sense of despair upon this realization - even a robot could see while he, the scion of the Bonne line, could not!

He realized that perhaps this growing set of familial duties was the underlying cause of Tron's increasingly short temper. It wasn't really a long jump to make - a Serve-bot who was taking care of Bon was a Serve-bot who couldn't assist her in the lab, which was really just the engine room of the _Fluchtburg_, the small ship on which the last scions of the Bonne family currently resided.

Teisel stumbled upon Tron's solution to the problem quite by accident. After leaving Bon in the care of the Serve-bot, Teisel had slowly rambled onto the deck of the small ship, aided by his cane, which he had weeks ago lost the shame of using.

"Where is he?"

Teisel blinked, although it really didn't do him much good, from a visual standpoint. "Who?" he asked innocently.

"You _know _who!"

"Not specifically, no," Teisel said nonchalantly, scratching his head. "If you're talking about the Serve-bot, he's helping feed Bon right now. Is that you who meant?"

"Of course that's who I meant! Who else lives on this ship?" More than a hint of edge had crept into Tron's voice.

Teisel shrugged. "Well, Tron, as you might have noticed, I can't see. There could be over a dozen people living on this ship, and I'd never know, would I?"

At this point, Tron started stomping on the deck. At least, that's what Teisel assumed from the metallic stamping sounds he was currently hearing. "You're worthless, you know that?"

Teisel would have been offended had these words come from anyone else. As it was, he figured he could humor his little sister, genius as she was and all. "What do you mean?" he asked guilelessly.

"Oooooh!" Tron exclaimed angrily, and pounded away from her brother.

Even considering this exchange, the events that happened later came somewhat to Teisel's surprise. The very next day, Tron marched into Teisel's quarters early in the morning, or certainly, earlier than Tiesel would have liked, and announced she had solved the problem.

"How, Miss Tron?" the Serve-bot asked her innocently.

"With _you_, you dummy!"

"Huh?" the Serve-bot countered.

"Oh, hello, Miss Tron," the Serve-bot said in a complete non sequitur. "Breakfast is ready!"

Teisel was more than a little confused, but said nothing, as he had often noted discretion was a good course of action when faced with unknown variables. He sat on the foot of his bed, tying his shoe innocuously.

"Ah!" said the Serve-bot. "Who are you?"

"I don't know!" the Serve-bot said in response. "Who are you?"

"I'm a Serve-bot!" The Serve-bot said proudly.

"Well, so am I!" the Serve-bot answered. "What's it to you?"

"Ummmm..." the Serve-bot countered. "I don't know!" it finished proudly.

At this point Teisel had pretty much figured out what was going on. "You made a second Serve-bot, didn't you?"

"That's right," Tron said proudly. "I've got one for you, and one for me."

"Which one is which?" an indeterminate Serve-bot said.

"Well," Tron said, "I made your first, so you're Number One. The other one is Number Two!"

"I am?" Number Two asked dejectedly.

"Yeah!" Tron said, full of vigor with her new authority. "Number One, you keep helping out Teisel. Number Two'll help me out in the lab."

Tiesel shrugged, possibly in no one's specific direction. "Are you sure that's how you want to sort it out?"

Tron harrumphed importantly. "Of course! Number Two's the more advanced model, I definitely want him in the lab with me."

"You do?" Number One asked, even more dejectedly. Well, Teisel didn't particularly care that Number One was disappointed, as long as the older robot was going to continue about his duties. Problem solved, although, if one were honest, it had been Tron that really solved the problem.

Except new problems would arise from the old. Or the absence of the old. What was Tieisel, a philosopher? One way or the other, he was apparently unable to get any respite. Now that Number One was fully in charge of Bon, as well as Teisel's own continuing random necessities, things became somewhat less interesting. Who knew that becoming the center of attention could be so uninteresting?

Of course, Tron and her Number Two were now in charge of the lab. Teisel didn't really have access to Tron's specific machinations, and even if he did, what would be the point? He couldn't see what was going on, anyway. Tron could be baking bread or crafting nuclear weapons in there, it wouldn't have made a difference as far as he could tell, unless someone told him.

Teisel started noticing the difference in the Serve-bots right away. For all that they had the same exact voice, nearly, it was obvious which one he was talking two after a while. Number One was very obviously jealous of Number Two, who was the younger robot and theoretically more advanced, and would often wonder aloud during his care session with Bon what Miss Tron was doing, sometimes angrily.

Number Two, meanwhile, was constantly aware that he was not the first-born Serve-bot, and felt the need to show up his older brother. He would brag near-incessantly about his accomplishments with Tron in the workshop, seemingly in an attempt to rub it in Number One's face. When that wasn't enough, he would play tricks on the elder Serve-bot, some of which went too far. Once Number Two started hiding Bon from his brother, Teisel stepped in a put a stop to the younger Serve-bot's tricks. After Tron found out, she was also vocally not in favor of these actions, at which point Teisel and Number One found reasons to be elsewhere on the ship.

Of course, Tron soon discovered for herself that more work was to be done, and soon a number of other Serve-bots were running around the Bonne's nautical home, as well. This led to other problems, however...


	13. Finances

Seemingly before Teisel had blinked, not that he'd notice, there were almost a dozen Serve-bots on the ship. Obviously, had he been able to see, he'd no doubt have become fully aware of the situation, but even listening gave one more than enough evidence to prove the fact. Hearing the same voice answer itself five different ways was plenty indicative as it was. For example:

"Where is the coffee pot?"

"I don't know!"

"Didn't Number Eight have it?"

"I don't know, did he?"

"Yes, he did!"

"No, I had it!"

"No, you didn't, I took it from you after that!"

"Oh, right!"

"Here it is, guys!"

Sighing, Teisel sat down at the galley table. "Can someone get me a cup of coffee, then?"

"Here you go, Master Teisel!" said a cheerful Serve-bot, shoving a cup of the brew into his right hand. The eldest Bonne had to react quickly in order to prevent the hot liquid from spilling onto his lap.

"Thank you," he stated simply, blowing on the coffee before drawing it into his mouth. He choked immediately upon tasting and swallowing the stuff, managing not to spit it out, as he had no idea who would be directly in front of him. "This is the worst coffee I've ever tasted!" he announced to the room.

"Sorry, sir," said a woeful Serve-bot near him. "I thought you liked it strong."

Teisel shook his head. "No, that's not the problem. It tastes kind of...sour?"

"Oh!" said another Serve-bot further away. "Number Two told me you liked your coffee to have 'bite,' so I made it with vinegar instead of water. Is that wrong?"

"Bite?" Teisel sputtered, slamming the mug down to the flat table surface and grimacing as the spilled beverage scalded his wrist. "Vinegar? Who in his right mind would use vinegar to make coffee? What kind of an _idiot_ would make coffee with vinegar instead of water?"

"Sorr-rry..." one of the Serbots said, abashed.

Teisel massaged the bridge of his nose to assuage the tension. "Okay. Here's what I want you to do: Run some water through the reservoir, pot, and filter basket, then make another pot of coffee, with water only this time. Can you handle that?"

"Roger!" a Serve-bot answered enthusiastically, clearly setting about his instructions by the noise that emanated from the galley.

After receiving a cup of hot water this time, Teisel instructed the Serve-bots from start to finish on how to make a pot of coffee, and tried not to yell at them. After all, he _had_ asked them to use "water only." Holding his third mug of coffee in front of him, he noticed it did seem to smell appropriate, if somewhat unappetizing. The mouthful of brew he tasted was definitely something that could be defined as "coffee," even if it tasted less than adequate.

He asked one of the Serve-bots to read him the directions from the coffee can to confirm the beverage had been prepared the correct way, this time. After verifying that it had, he wondered aloud, "Why doesn't it taste very good, then?"

"Ummmm..." a Serve-bot muttered.

"What is it?"

"Well, Miss Tron said we're running out of money, now, so we have to start buying the cheaper brands!"

This set Teisel marching off to Tron's workshop in a furor. Still holding the mug of sub-par coffee, he confronted his young sister, saying, "Tron, the Serve-bots told me we're running low on funds. Is this true?"

"Well, we are a little short..." his sister said contritely.

"How is that possible?" Teisel asked, trying not to make a face as he drank more coffee. "I brought over two million zenny with us from home. That should be more than enough to last us five years, or better!" He felt more than a little guilty about not being able to personally manage the finances, himself, although there was only so much he could do without sight.

"Well, there's more expenses than just food, you know!"

Teisel sat down on the deck stairs. "Tron, Lytrel and Bohannon used the refractors I brought with us to set up a bank account with monthly stipends for us. Are you saying that you've been spending more money than that?"

"Sure!" Tron said angrily. "You know that Bon's had regular doctor visits over the last few months, and it's not just that!"

Bon had been needing more medical examinations lately, as his cough had gotten worse, and Teisel had been present upon most of these, so he could personally attest to that expense. That being said, he also knew how much each visit cost, and that definitely did not account for the bank account running low at this early juncture. "And...?" he prompted.

"And, you may have noticed, we have a lot more mouths to feed on this ship than we used to! The Serve-bots have to eat, too, you know!"

Teisel scratched his head. "They do? You made robots that can eat? Wouldn't it be easier to just plug them in?"

"Easier, sure, but not cheaper! It's a lot less expensive to make them spaghetti than to have them siphon off power from the ship's generator!"

"I prefer Curry Rice!" A Serve-bot exclaimed with aplomb.

Teisel ran over the figures in his head. "Okay, the extra food would be a drain, but we still shouldn't be almost broke at this point. What aren't you telling me?"

From the abrupt sound, Teisel guessed Tron had stamped her foot on the metallic deck. "You don't understand, Teisel! My workshop isn't cheap to run, either!"

Teisel nodded. He'd hit the vein of the problem. "Tell me, Tron. Why is it so expensive?"

"I mean..." Tron stammered. "It's not just the Serve-bots. I'm making other stuff, here, too! Stuff that can help us! Like..the Finkel! It's important!"

"What's the Finkel?" Teisel asked, confused.

"It's a new robot I made!" Tron said, enthused. "It can fly with a propeller, and it can send what it sees and hears back here, so it's like I'm there! It's like I can go with the Serve-bots when they go to the island, even though you won't let me!"

"It does sound impressive. How much did it cost to make?"

"Two hundred and fifty thousand zenny," Tron said contritely.

Teisel tried not to groan. "I'm sorry, Tron, that is entirely too much. I can't have you spending our limited resources on making these new robots."

"You just don't understand! I'm making important things, here!" Tron sounded resentful.

"Yes, but we have to live! And if we want to live, we need money!" Teisel was shouting now, barely in control of his words. "I can't have you wasting our future on worthless contraptions! You need to focus on what's important!"

Tron sniffed. "But, Teisel, this _is_ important to me. I want to help..."

Struck by his sister's statement, Teisel heard his own words echo in his memory. _Leading has nothing to do with financial statements and earnings reports._ _It's about being able to make quick decisions and inspiring men to follow you... _He laughed grimly. "Oh, father, if only you could see me now..."

Teisel stood up, walked tentatively to the work table and embraced his younger sister. "Tron. You are, without a doubt, the most gifted child I've ever known. I have faith in you. You've improved our lives so much in the last few years. But we can't keep spending this money. Can't you see that?"

"Mmm-hmm," Tron murmured, burying her face in his chest, clutching him.

"I'll tell you what," he said, grasping her by the shoulders. "How about this? You can make all the robots you want, as long as we don't have to pay for the parts. How does that sound?"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

Teisel grinned visibly, in the direction he thought her face was. "Machines break down every day. Diggers put down Reaverbots every day. Where does all that scrap go?"

"To the junk yard?" Tron said, confused.

"Right! The junk yard! And if one part of a machine is broken, how many other parts are still in perfect working order? A bunch, I think. And those Reaverbots may still have working refractors in them, and those are refractors you could use, aren't they?"

"Yes," Tron answered. "But how could I get them? You won't let me go to town..."

"Well," Teisel said, "I think you have about a dozen helpers here who could assist you in that, don't you? And you could send that Finkel of yours with them, to make sure they're doing an all right job, I'd bet."

"You're right, Teisel!" Tron said happily. "What was I thinking? Why would I pay for parts when I could get them for free! We'll start salvaging stuff tomorrow! I'm...I'm sorry for spending all that money."

"Don't worry, Tron," Teisel said, drawing her close. "But make sure you have them get a better brand of coffee from now on, all right?"

_NEXT TIME:_

A Shocking Endeavor


End file.
